


Holmes' Moving Castle

by thosethingstheheartbelieves



Category: Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, John gets cursed, M/M, Sherlock Is A Wizard, and Mrs Hudson is your fire demon not your houskeeper dear, basically I'm going mad, but in a really fun way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 40,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosethingstheheartbelieves/pseuds/thosethingstheheartbelieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is an ordinary doctor bored by his ordinary life until he meets the Wizard Holmes and is cursed by Moriarty: Wizard of the Wastes. Cursed with the body of an old, crippled man John is determined to track down Moriarty and demand he change him back. Along the way he finds himself a part of the Wizard Holmes' unique household and discovers Holmes is under a curse of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wizard Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been beta-ed at all, so apologies for any and all mistakes.
> 
> I saw this gorgeous commission by tumblr user pokochi http://tinabees.tumblr.com/post/62426180610/pockochi-commission-where-sherlock-is-a and immediately thought of the Studio Ghibli version of Howl's Moving Castle. And then everything just made sense and I couldn't stop thinking about it and I then I had a free afternoon so the first chapter tumbled out.

“John! We’re off out to the pub, are you coming?” Mike Stamford’s jovial voice broke through John’s revery. He tore his eyes where they’d been gazing out his office window and looked at his friend. Mike stood in the doorway and John could hear the majority of their coworker’s getting ready to leave for the night.

“Sure thing, Mike. I’ve got to finish this paperwork first, though. I’ll meet you there.” The words were barely out of his mouth when a shout went up from the next room.

“Look! It’s Holmes’ castle!” There was a mad rush to the window and everyone strained to catch a glimpse of the famous- or depending on the rumors you listened to, infamous- roaming castle, home to the most elusive wizard in the kingdom.

“I heard he tore the heart out of the last person who annoyed him.” said Noel, the new x-ray technician.

“Who cares? He’s so handsome, he could have my heart anytime he wants.” countered Jenny a happily married doctor in her forties.

“Same here,” responded Stuart, their receptionist “and any other body part he wanted!” Shouts of laughter followed the group out the door, but Mike his head back through the door.

“Don’t work too hard, mate. All that can wait till tomorrow” he said.

“Ta.” John replied, smiling as Mike left as well.

John looked out the window again, just in time to see the shambling form of Holmes’ castle disappear beyond the foggy horizon where The Wastes met the outskirts of the city. John felt a dull spark jealousy-or was it longing- ping it’s way around his chest at the freedom the moving castle represented. For the past few months, John had felt a pervading sense of being trapped. He had worked and studied for years to become a doctor, but now that he’d achieved that goal he seemed to be treating an endless parade of dripping noses and stomach bugs and all the paperwork that accompanied them. His evenings weren’t much better. He went to the pubs with his coworkers, flirted with girls in the pub, ate dinner and went home to his empty rooms and then repeated the process the next night.

“Nothing ever happens to me.” he sighed, filing the patient’s records away and sliding his coat over his shoulders. Nothing ever seemed to happen but he couldn’t think of a way to get himself out of the rut.

Dusk had fallen by the time John stepped out on the street, the air was cool and the breeze brought with it the scent of fried food. John’s mouth watered, maybe he drop by Harry’s pub for chips or a pie before meeting Mike and the rest of the office. Mind made up, he turned down his favorite shortcut to the pub where Harry tended bar.. It wasn’t in the nicest part of town and the pub had a reputation for being pretty rough, even for a gay bar. But John’s innate confidence in the abilities honed during his compulsory years in the army combined with Harry’s overwhelming popularity with the pub’s clientele meant he rarely had his guard up when he visited.

Lost in his thoughts, John navigated the familiar route of gloomy alleys on autopilot, by the time his senses registered danger it was almost too late.

“Well, well, who do we have here?”a voice leered from a shadowed doorway right before the owner stepped into John’s path. He was flanked by two thugs whose tattoos marked them as members of the Wizard Moriarty’s underworld army. Obviously they were lesser minions with little to no magical abilities of their own,. But knuckles used without magic could probably do just as much damage as those with magic, and John was eager to avoid finding out. The thugs stood by mutely as their leader look John over consideringly. He straightened his threadbare waistcoat and pushed back the brim of his dented bowler. “Boys, it looks like a little mouse has wandered into our lair.” He snapped his long front teeth together “Don’t worry little mouse, we won’t hurt you. Much.”

John looked down at himself. He was used to people mistaking his smaller stature for weakness, and his clothes didn’t give off the impression that he was anything but innocuous, but really? A mouse? That was rich coming from a man with the face of a rat.

“Look mate, I don’t want any trouble,” he began putting up his palms placatingly, already eyeing his surroundings for further dangers and possible weapons. He heard movement behind him and turned slightly only to see two more tattooed goons looming at the end of the alley, blocking his exit. John crouched slightly into a fighting stance, knowing he couldn’t possibly take all of them but determined not to go down without a fight.

“I’m afraid trouble is what you’re going to get, little mouse.” the rat-faced sneered, licking his lips in anticipation. John shook his head and tensed for a fight when something appeared in his peripheral vision. He whirled, wondering how one of the goons at the alley’s mouth was able to rush up on him so quickly and was surprised to see a tall figure in a swirling cloak instead. The man flashed a brilliant smile at the rat-faced villain.

“Not today, I’m afraid, Hollis. Of course, I could let this ‘little mouse’ prove how un-mouse-like he is by destroying a few of your henchmen, but I can see that the good doctor is hungry and you’ve interrupted him while he was on his way to his brother’s pub for dinner.” he winked at John who found himself unable to respond. Hollis, on the other hand, hissed menacingly “Stay out of this. Moriarty is already annoyed with you. He won’t be pleased to hear you’re interfering on his turf.”

“Tell him to come and find me himself.” the cloaked wizard replied in a bored tone. “Dealing with his underlings is tedious. Laters!” with this final word he whirled, catching John’s arm and rushing down the alley straight at the two goons standing at the end. John jogged a bit to keep up with his long legged savior. He heard the heavy footsteps of Hollis and his henchmen approaching from behind just as the wizard’s feet lifted off the ground. John was able to swallow his yelp of fear and his own feet followed suit. One of John’s arms was firmly held by the wizard, keeping him aloft, but he still felt compelled to bring up his opposite hand to grasp the wizard’s arm as well. They rose over up and over the heads of the dumbfounded thugs and continued to sail upward until they were above most of the surrounding buildings. Then they began to move toward the above the crowded main roads full of people heading home from work or out for the evening.

“Relax. If you move your feet as if you’re walking- yes just like that, very good- it’s less disconcerting.” the strange wizard’s deep voice rumbled in his ear and he concentrated on moving his legs and feet in a pantomime of walking. It did help and once he grew used to the sensation he took a moment to realize how lovely the city looked from this perspective. Sooner than he wanted, John recognized that they were approaching the lights of Harry’s bar. They descended slowly to land on an upper deck of the building. John immediately released his hold on the man’s arm and held out his hand for a handshake. The wizard looked at him with amusement before reaching down from his perch on the deck’s railing . John had to look up even more than he normally did, but he was rewarded with his first clear look at the wizard who had saved him from a certain beating. His breath caught in his throat at that first full-on look. Piercing silver eyes slanted down at him beneath shining silver curls that had been tousled by their trip. The wizard’s pale skin seemed to emit its own glow in the dim night and sharp cheekbones highlighted hollows in his cheeks. His chin was a small but had a stubborn cast to it which was completely forgotten when his bowed lips smiled down at John. He managed to stammer out his thanks as they shook hands.

“You’re very welcome Dr. Watson. I’m sure we’ll be meeting again soon. The name is Holmes, by the way. Wizard Sherlock Holmes.” he said with a wink. Then he stepped back and with a dramatic twirl of his cloak, rose into the night sky. John rushed forward and leaned as far over the railing as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of Holmes but he was already out of sight. Still straining his eyes into the darkness, he heard someone racing up the stairs inside the building. The door behind him burst open and his sister Harry tumbled out of it, surrounded by her customary cloud of booze. It was early enough that most of it came from pouring drinks for customers, not herself, so the concern in her voice was both genuine and coherent.

“Johnny, is it true? People are saying you were seen flying over town with the Wizard Holmes?”

John glanced over his shoulder at her, and slowly flexed the hand that still tingled from their handshake.  
“Yeah. I guess did.” he said slowly, unable to stop the grin that formed on his face.


	2. Moriarty of the Wastes

       John’s long awaited chips came with a side of sisterly lecturing.

       “I’m serious, Johnny. He’s dangerous, the stories I’ve heard about him are scary. Clara’s knows someone who’s worked with him before, back when he was in the Academy. She said he’s got more psychopath in him than wizard. That he likes all the dark magic, the necromancy and whatever else the king asks him to do. She says one day they’ll be standing around a reanimated corpse and he’ll be the one who killed it in the first place.” Harry rested her hand on John’s arm. “I don’t want you hanging around him, okay?”

       John rolled his eyes impatiently, “Harry, we only just met. I think we spoke maybe two sentences to each other altogether? It’s not as if we exchanged addresses, so it’s not likely we’re going to become best friends any time soon. And why would a powerful wizard like Sherlock Holmes be interested in a simple doctor like me, anyway? He helped me out a tight situation is all, I’m thankful.” He felt an inexplicable compulsion to defend Holmes against the accusations Harry made, but refrained. It would only spur on his sister’s objections. Harry nodded.

       “That’s just as well, he doesn’t seem like to sort who would have friends anyway.”

       Licking salty grease off from his fingertips, and ignoring the interested gazes the action attracted, John thought about how sad it would be to lead a life devoid of friends. Even if you were a powerful wizard, that would be a lonely existence. Harry waved a hand in front of his face, breaking through his revery. “Are you listening?” she said “I don’t think you should go anywhere near him. You are far too trusting and I worry about you.”

       “Hey now, who’s the older sibling in this family? You know they saying, it’s the younger siblings who go off to have the great adventures. Us first born children are doomed to lives of tedium and respectability.” John smothered the feeling of unfairness that always accompanied that thought and let only the annoyance that his own sister believed he couldn’t look out for himself, show on his face.

       She opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a chorus of shouts. Her name was being called from both ends of the bar and she wagged a finger at him before returning to her adoring public, pouring spirits and pulling pints with a jest for the men and a cheeky wink for the women who leaned against the wooden counter. John finished his dinner, waved to his distracted sister and headed back out into the night.

       The next day everything seemed to go back to normal. When he’d met up with his colleagues, the news had already reached them. But the story had….evolved in the short time since he had flown over the rooftops of the city. According to the barmaid, the Wizard Holmes had attacked a woman in a dark alley and flown off with her into the night, leaving behind only the echoes of the poor woman’s screams. John could only shake his head. If this was how quickly and easily Holmes’ actions morphed, he was now hesitant to believe any of the stories told about him.  
Back at work, the bright light streaming in his window made the night before seem not like a dream but like a memory of a better time. He certainly hadn’t been bored in the presence of the Wizard Holmes, and now that he knew just how exciting life could be, his normal existence seemed to drag even more that ever. He went through his daily routine in a daze.He was so out of it that he forgot his wallet at work when he finally left for the day, only realizing when he stopped to buy milk on his way home.

       Frustrated by his forgetfulness, he retraced his steps back to the office. Once inside, he didn’t bother with the lights, knowing the building’s layout by heart. He had retrieved the wallet from his desk drawer when he heard the bell at the front door ring, announcing an arrival. He entered the lobby to see a small, impeccably dressed man with short cropped hair sauntering into the building.

       “I’m sorry, I’m afraid we’re closed for the evening. You’ll have to come back in the morning, or you can call our phone service to set up an appointment.” John began, apologetically.

       The man didn’t even look at him as he spoke, but slouched around the room with his hands thrust into his pockets as if he was bored with the entire enterprise. “Oh, I won’t be the one needing an appointment.” he said in a disturbingly reedy voice, his accent was foreign and John’s instincts told him to keep his distance.

       “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” he said firmly, walking to the door and holding it open in an obvious invitation to leave.

       “I just wanted to see who could possibly have captured the attention of Sherlock Holmes. But now that I’m here, I must confess, I am most disappointed. A lowly doctor? Why, you have barely any magic in you at all. And you’re so BORING.” he almost shouted on the last word, lunging forward on the balls of his feet. John tensed, but the man didn’t seem to be making any more threatening movements thoguh his eyes did gleam unnaturally in the dark.

       “Well, I guess I’ll be going then.” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

       And then he rushed towards John, looming suddenly over and somehow through him. John staggered and held onto the doorframe as shudders racked his body and he slid to his knees.

       “My favorite part about that spell is that you can’t tell anyone about it. Oh and if you do see Sherlock again, tell him Jim Moriarty sends his love.” with a high pitched giggle the man dissolved into mist and dissipated into the night air.

       John blinked, but found it hard to focus before he realized he was about to pass out. He needed to get out of this open doorway, but he didn’t trust his legs to carry him home in this state. He didn’t know what state exactly this was, but it didn’t feel very promising. He managed to stagger to his feet and pushed the door closed. he caught a glimmer of his reflection in its large window and caught his breath in confusion. he shuffled toward the washroom and flicked on the harsh light to reveal his reflection in the mirror. Looking back was the face of a old man! The man in the mirror had to be in his 80s at the youngest, grey hair on his head and deep lines on his face and bags under his eyes. John’s mind tried to reject what he was seeing, but the hands pulling and pushing at the drooping skin confirmed his fears. Moriarty had cursed him with age. And if he what he’d said as he left was true, John could tell no one what had happened to him.

 

       What was he going to say to Mike and the rest of the office? What was he going to tell Harry? He’d never hear the end of it. And what did this mean about the rest of his life? Would he live as many years as he’d once hoped or did this shorten his remaining days?

  
       He started to slide down the wall but his joints protested too much for that action. Instead he went into his office and sat on his small sofa to think things over. He quickly decided that this would simply not do, he wasn’t very happy with his life of late but he knew he’d had time to change things. And he’d be damned if some wizard was going to cheat him out of living the life he wanted to live. He would find Moriarty and make him remove the curse, whatever it took. Decision made and too exhausted to move, John fell asleep on the small couch, brow furrowed in determination. 


	3. Wizards and Wastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sets out to get his youth back, meets a scarecrow and finds the Castle.

John woke with a start the next morning. He checked his watch and saw that it was still early, then he noticed the skin on his hand. It was wrinkled and liver spotted, the knuckles swollen underneath swollen and curved arthritically. The run in with Moriarty the night before came back to him in a rush and he tentatively reached a hand up to trace the wrinkles on his face. 

There was a knock on his office door and he jumped in surprise. 

“John? You here already? I saw the light on under your door.” It was Mike, he liked to get in early to start the coffeemaker and turn on all the equipment. 

“Uh yeah. Yeah, I came in early to work on some stuff. Not feeling so great, though.” John croaked, relieved he’d locked the office door last night.

“You alright, mate? You sound awful, like 90 year old man!” he chortled at his little joke, John looked down at his hands again and laughed a little at how accurate the description was. 

“Nah, it’s just a head cold, sounds worse than it probably is.” he said. 

“Well head home then, we’ll get your patients covered. Don’t want you to overwork yourself.I need to pop out to the shop, Stuart forgot to get coffee filters. I’ll see you when you’re feeling better, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” John agreed and listened to Mike’s footsteps leave the building. As soon as the door closed, John hopped off the couch. Or, he tried to hop off the couch. He succeeded after several attempt, only to find the effort was extremely painful, especially in his left shoulder and leg. He limped into the staff lounge, thankful no one else had arrived early. Rooting through the cupboards and refrigerator he collected a slightly bruised apple, a bag of crisps, and a few stale biscuits. He looked longingly at the kettle, but decided he didn’t have time for tea before people began to arrive. He pocketed his provisions and checked his reflection one more time, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating the entire situation.

“Well at least your clothes suit you now, old boy.” he told himself ruefully, taking in the plaid button down and oatmeal coloured jumper. He took a deep breath and left by the back door. 

Once out on the street he realized he didn’t really have a plan beyond finding Moriarty. He decided the best place to start his search would be The Wastes. The vast moorlands that bordered the city on its eastern side were known to be full of dangerous magical creatures and only the most powerful wizards- or foolhardy travellers- dared to venture there. John knew full well which category he fell into but he had heard Moriarty lived in a palace deep in the heart of The Wastes and that was the closest thing to an address he had, so he might as well start there.

The train only went as far as the outskirts of town, either because non-magical technology didn’t always work this far out or because the railway workers were too scared to build any further out. When he reached the end of the line, John started walking, making his way slowly due to his limp. After a few minutes a kind farmer offered him a lift in the back of his truck. Unfortunately, his farm, though remote was still well outside the actual borders of The Waste so John once again prepared to set out on foot. 

“Where are you headed?” the farmer asked as John eased down from the truck bed. 

“Into The Wastes, I’m looking for the…” John’s voice caught in his throat as if his tongue were knotting itself up and he was unable to explain his reasons. The farmer shook his head. 

“Be careful, there’s nothing out there but wizards and waste!” John nodded and thanked the man and turned resolutely into the wilderness.

The first few hours were actually pleasant. The terrain was rocky but relatively even and the quiet of his surroundings was calming. If it hadn’t been for the pain in his leg, he might’ve forgotten he wasn’t just out on a nice stroll. As the shadows lengthened, John stopped for a break. He sat sheltered from the wind by a large rocky outcropping. He polished off the apple and crisps and stretched his aching leg, kneading the muscles with his unfamiliar hands. ‘I should have brought a cane from the office, that would have made this a lot easier.’ he thought to himself. The terrain around him had few trees but he looked around hoping he’d find something he might use as a temporary crutch. As he scanned his surroundings he saw a likely candidate.Sticking out of a dense bit of brush he saw a long, slender branch. Pushing to his feet he approached the bushes and grabbed at the stick. 

There was some resistance but it yielded quickly and he almost over-balanced, both with the sudden movement and in surprise. The stick turned out to be the base of a scarecrow. A scarecrow that, now freed, twirled and bounced in what he assumed was a happy way- it was hard to tell since its face, a carved turnip, didn’t change expression or seem to be capable of speech. 

“Now how did you end up in there?” John asked good naturedly. “Looks like you’ve got a curse too.”

The scarecrow hopped once as if in affirmation. Her, the long yarn wig implied it was a her, long white jacket fluttered around her. 

“Well since you obviously can’t tell me your name, I’ll have to give you a name. Let’s see, you’ve got a turnip for a head...but I’ve always hated turnips so that’d be a rubbish name for you. Actually, you remind me of a doll someone tried to give my sister once. How about Dolly? Can I call you Dolly?” She bounced once again in agreement. He grinned, happy he wasn’t alone any longer. 

“So Dolly, since I obviously won’t be using you as a cane and it’s going to be dark soon, I don’t suppose you happen to know of any place I could stay the night, do you?” The scarecrow bounced up and down rapidly and bounded away at a fast clip. John watched her retreating figure and tried not to feel abandoned. ‘Could’ve just said no.’ he grumbled. 

There seemed to be little else to do but keep moving. Maybe he’d find a nice empty cave before it got too dark. As he walked further into The Wastes the already sparse birdsong had become non-existent and a low fog clung to his ankles making walking precarious. The darkness was quickly approaching and his search for a safe place to sleep was proving unsuccessful. 

The fog thickened and distorted the sounds around him, so it wasn’t until he was nearly flattened by one large mechanical foot that he realized the Castle was nearby. Instinctively, he rolled out of the way, watching as the famous moving castle, well moved over him. It had almost passed him completely when he spotted Dolly hopping excitedly in its wake. Her stuffed gloved hands seemed to be indicating he climb onto the only visible entrance- a single doorway made of a lacquered black wood with a brass knocker and some sort of number John couldn’t quite make out from this distance. He snapped himself out of the shock of seeing the giant contraption with the realization that Dolly had indeed found him a place to spend the night. The groan of gears and scraping of metal was almost deafening but it would soon fade if he didn’t act quickly. He took off toward the retreating doorway, almost too slow, but he managed to throw himself at it and pulled himself to stand on the small stoop. He took caught his breath and turned to wave to the scarecrow who was growing smaller as the Castle picked up speed. 

“Thank you Dolly! I owe you one!” Turning back to the door he was suddenly not sure this was such a great idea. What would the Wizard Holmes think of his just appearing on his doorstep? Would he even remember John, or did he go around saving so many young men in alleys that they all looked alike? He couldn’t blame Holmes if he didn’t recognize him, though. The old man’s body was a far cry from the young man he’d been. And as for all the rumors about Holmes, well it was unlikely he’d want anything to do with the heart of an old man. 

As John waffled back and forth, the Castle stumbled on the outcropping that had sheltered John earlier in the day. John was jostled forward and he tumbled through the unlocked door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess who my Turniphead really is? I always thought it was mean that Sophie call him Turniphead when she hates turnips...I love Turniphead.


	4. Mrs. Hudson: Fire Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stumbles into The Castle and meets an important character.

The very first thing that John registered about the inside of the Castle was its stillness, behind him it was obvious that the entire building swayed as it walked through the dark wilderness but in front of him everything was as steady as if he were standing in a normal foyer. The next things he noticed were that it was dark and it was warm. When his eyes fully adjusted he could see that he stood at the foot of a set of stairs. Having no place else to go, John started to climb. At the top, a door stood ajar, John pushed it fully open and stepped inside hesitantly. He found himself inside a cluttered living room, the only source of light came from an ornate fireplace to his left. A small fire crackled in the grate, illuminating an inviting looking armchair to one side of its warmth. John very quickly decided to accept that invitation and shuffled forward, settling himself with a contented sigh. He stretched out his hands for a moment to warm them and then relaxed into a doze almost immediately. Now that he was out of the cold and felt relatively safe he could hardly keep his eyes open. the fire made comforting crackling noises and he’d almost drifted off to sleep when he heard a kindly voice.

“My, my that is a nasty curse you’ve got there, isn’t it dear?”

Under normal circumstances, John would have jolted awake at such a surprise but his exhaustion and now-elderly body meant he only lifted his eyelids a fraction in order to investigate the noise. But before he could glance around he found himself mesmerized, staring into the fire. Then he realized the fire was staring back. He blinked and the eyes that had appeared in the flames blinked at him expectantly. 

“Are- are you Holmes?” it was all John could think to ask. He had met the wizard as a human, but that didn’t mean he chose to stay in that form all the time. It was a well known fact that wizards could take on other forms, though it was difficult and dangerous. Many unskilled witches adn wizards found themselves trapped in forms they were not powerful enough to control. Surely a wizard as powerful as Holmes could change into many different forms, but he was doubtful that he would choose one with such a sweet face and voice. It didn’t seem his style.

“Oh goodness, no!” the fire laughed flickeringly, “I am a dangerous and powerful fire demon!” she flared up dramatically to prove it, turning from red orange to blue flames that hissed in the air before quieting down again to a gentle smolder. “but you may call me Mrs. Hudson. And your name is?” she prompted him.

“J-john. But how did you know about the…” he trailed off, not even trying to say the words.  
“Oh the curse? Well, I’ve got one as well and I guess like recognizes like. I’ll tell you what. How about I help you with yours and you can take of mine for me?” she said

“How do I know I can trust a fire demon?” John asked. “I’ve never met one before and I don’t want to get…” he stopped himself before he made a regrettable pun. Mrs. Hudson tutted as if she knew exactly what he’d been about to say. But then her expression turned coy, if you could say a fire demon could look coy. John was too tired to analyze the possible expressions of demonic flame creatures and he wasn’t in any position to argue distrust her since she seemed inclined to let him remain in his seat and wasn’t raising any sort of alarms. “Well I guess you do seem a trustworthy fire even if you are a bit demon-y.” he murmured and finally nodded off to sleep, slumped in the comfortable arm chair.

Mrs. Hudson continued to observe John while he slept, increasing her burn to fully warm her guest. Even cursed she liked the look of this John. “Yes,” she mused aloud, “I think you’ll be able to help me with my curse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like Mrs. Hudson! Can't wait to make tea with her in the morning!
> 
> I'm on a kind of vacation which means I'll be able to write a bunch and will try to get as far into this story before November. If it's not finished there will be a bit of a break as I'm doing NaNoWriMo and will have to put this aside to work on that project...


	5. Inside the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up inside The Castle gets to know it, Mrs. Hudson and the Wizard Holmes' apprentice a little better.

The ring of a doorbell below and footsteps above him, woke John the next morning. He cracked his eyes open but when he heard someone enter the room behind him he closed them again, feigning sleep. Hopefully whoever it was wouldn’t harm an old, sleeping man. And maybe it would give him time to come up with an explanation for his unexpected presence. The person, whoever it was, made a questioning sort of noise in their throat when confronted with the back of John’s head. Through slitted eyes John saw Mrs. Hudson, who was just a flicker in the weak morning light, give a shrug. He felt the person take a step toward him but then the doorbell rang again and they were reminded of their original reason for coming downstairs. As the person trotted down the stairs Mrs. Hudson called out, 

“It’s the Seahaven door dear!”

John heard a click and the door was pulled open. The early morning caller addressed the person gruffly, “Good morning, is Wizard Sherrinford in?”

“No sir, Inspector Gregson. He is not in at the moment.” a soft voice responded. A girl? Holmes had a girl stashed away in his Castle? There had never been any rumors about a girl living with him. What was she to him? A ward? Some other relative? A servant? Some sweet young thing who’s heart he’d stolen? And who exactly was Sherrinford? John was sure there was only one Moving Castle and it was not located anywhere near Seahaven when he’d entered it the night before.   
While John’s mind whirled with questions, the Inspector at the door had continued speaking. “Well when he returns would you give him these files? I’d like him to take a look at this case for us? Have him call on me as soon as possible.”

“Thank you sir, I’ll makes sure Master Sherrinford receives them as soon as he returns. “ the door closed softly and he heard he light tread on the stairs. 

John decided to take his chances with the young woman and straightened- his neck popped audibly in the process. He saw her the minute she got to the top of the stairs and had a moment to observe her unnoticed as she was glancing through the papers in the file she was holding. He immediately dismissed his questions about seduction. She was a lovely young woman, with long dark hair pulled into a tail on the side of her head and a strong straight nose, but she was young probably around 15 or 16 if he had to guess. She wore a lab coat over a frumpy knit sweater, short baggy khakis and chunky brown shoes. While John thought it was a comfortable looking outfit he got the feeling she wore the thick layers because she was insecure about her appearance and not for any real need for the warmth. Her slightly hunched shoulders and the nervous glances she was giving him out of the corner of her eyes lead him to conclude that, besides being too young, this girl was far too timid for the flamboyant wizard. If she was nervous peering at John who- for all intents and purposes- was a little old man, how could she possibly be exciting enough for a man that saved strangers from thugs in darkened alleys and then took them flying over town? ‘Whoah there boy,’ John chastised himself ‘that sounds an awful lot like jealousy.’ He didn’t even want to consider what that meant.

“E-excuse me, sir. Who are you and h-how did you get in here?” the young lady finally ventured to ask, stammering just a bit and staying well clear of him.

John opened his mouth, not sure what explanation he was about to give but Mrs. Hudson answered be he had a chance.

“This is John, dear. He came in off The Wastes last night and I thought he needed a warm place to sleep. John, this is Molly, Sherlock’s apprentice.”

Molly was staring at John even more curiously now, “You’re from The Wastes?” she asked.

“No, I’m not from The Wastes, I’m completely human. I promise. I was in The Wastes looking for someone and when it got dark I found The Castle and it...let me in.” he finished lamely, not sure how to explain it all.

“I let him.” Mrs. Hudson corrected. “I think he might be just what we need around here.” She waved a long flame like it was arm, indicating the room or maybe The Castle as a whole. The gesture almost set fire to a sheet of paper that was dangling precariously from a stack sitting on the mantlepiece. John did a double take, the papers were weighted down by a human skull. A little disconcerted, he cast his eyes around the room, and realized the clutter he had sensed the night before was more than clutter. It was catastrophe. There were papers and books strewn across the desk, coffee table, and another armchair. Half empty tea cups sat abandoned on any flat sturdy surface and a few lay on the floor where they’d obviously landed after being placed on un-sturdy surfaces. There kitchen beyond the sitting room was worse. The large table held a large microscope as well as beakers and test tubes in various stages of use. Test results and charts littered the floor. The sink was overflowing with dishes with food remnants that looked fused with the china and even from here it looked as if there was blood spatter coating the walls of the microwave.

“I see what you mean, Mrs. Hudson. You really could use someone in to clean this place out. And it’s the least I can do after last night’s hospitality.” John said, trying to be good natured about it when he really felt more resigned. Still, he did feel the need to repay them and he didn’t have any ideas about how to move forward with his plan. Besides, he might get a glimpse of Holmes this way, and he couldn’t deny he was looking to that.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…” Molly began, but the doorbell rang again, cutting her off. 

“It’s the Seahaven door, a client I believe.” said Mrs. Hudson.

“Oh!” Molly looked around, flustered again, and shuffled through a stack of paper before extracting one that seemed important and scurried down the stairs again. John heard the door open and someone sniffled and asked for Wizard Sherrinford again. Molly repeated her statement of earlier, that he was not in but then explained that he had information for the person. She must have passed on the paper because there was a gasp and the sound of Molly’s muffled voice saying “There, there.” 

When she came back upstairs, the shoulder of her lab coat was damp and she looked even more uncomfortable than before. “As I was saying…” she began was again interrupted by the ring of the door bell. 

“It’s the London door this time, dear and we’re not expecting anyone so if it’s a client tell them to return at a later time.” Mrs. Hudson called when Molly turned around to take the stairs again. Just as he heard a click, the clouds outside must have shifted because the light streaming in through the window changed slightly. 

“Good morning, Molly is Wizard Doyle in this morning?” a kind but tired sounding voice drifted up the stairwell. “I’m afraid he’s not Inspector Lestrade.” came her reply. John imagined the sigh more than he heard it. “Well if you hear from him, let him know I came by. He’s not answering any of my messages and I really need his expertise on a case we’re working on.” Molly said that she would and closed the door. 

John got up and hobbled over to the windows to see what The Wastes looked like in the morning. His mouth fell open when he lifted back the curtains. Outside, where he’d expected to see fog and rolling moors, he looked down on a busy urban street. Cars drove by and people walked to and fro, sometimes stopping in at a cafe next door. He shook his head and Mrs. Hudson gave a little giggle. 

“But, that’s not The Wastes. That looks like...London!” John exclaimed.

“This is a magic Castle, dear. Are you really surprised?” Mrs. Hudson chided him gently.

He rushed down the stairs, almost knocking Molly over as they passed on the landing. Once at the foot of the stairs he flung open the door and stepped out on the street. He was greeted by the familiar sights, sounds and smells of a city. He looked at the outside of the door. It was the same door he’d fallen through the night before, shiny and black with a brass door knocker and numbers 221 nailed to it. He stepped back in and closed the door slowly. He opened it again, only to see the street still there. When he closed the door this time he noticed a small dial right above the doorknob. It was divided into different colored quarters. At the moment, it was turned so that the red quadrant was facing up. Experimentally, he turned the dial so that the green section faced up and opened the door. When he poked his head out, his nose was filled the smell of the sea and he could hear gulls crying. The houses facing him were made of stone with slate roofs. He pulled his head back inside and turned the dial again, yellow this time. When the door was opened John saw the moors and fog he’d expected earlier. He grinned and closed the door.

“Uh, you should probably not be messing with that.” Molly’s voice came from behind him. “Master Holmes would be really annoyed if he found out.” 

John nodded, “Where’s the black one lead?” he asked, turning to come back upstairs.

“Only Master Holmes is allowed to use that one, he calls it his Mind Palace.” she answered.

“A Mind Palace and a Moving Castle? This guy has some ego doesn’t he?” John grinned at Molly and she smiled back but didn’t quite meet his eyes, not answering. John went on, mounting the stairs slowly. “Now how about some breakfast? I don’t know about you, but I’m starved!”

Molly stammered something about looking for some bread to toast and some tea and John protested, “That’s not really a proper breakfast, surely we can rustle up something better.”

“Master Holmes doesn’t really eat…” Molly trailed off. She made a noise of objection when John opened the refrigerator, but he decided to ignore the human head on the main shelf and instead rummaged in the drawers. Finding several eggs and a package of bacon that looked sealed enough to be safe for consumption he turned to the stove top. It looked...destroyed. 

“That’s another reason we can’t cook, Master Holmes blew the stove up during an experiment and hasn’t bothered to fix it yet. And Mrs. Hudson won’t cooperate for me.”

“It’s not you, dear. It’s just, I’m your fire demon not your housekeeper!” called Mrs. Hudson from the other room.

“Well maybe I can coax her into it.” John whispered to Molly, winking at her. Molly blushed and looked away. John gathered up all he thought he’d need to make breakfast and headed into the sitting room. 

“Now Mrs. Hudson, I’m sure you wouldn’t object to helping us out with breakfast just this one time, would you?” he gave his most winning smile, a smile that had worked on many woman when he was young man, and he hoped it still worked on his older face. It seemed to, Mrs. Hudson’s flames flushed a deep red and she said, “Well alright, just this once, mind you. Not your housekeeper!”

They smiled at each other and John placed a frying pan gently on top of her, letting it heat up enough that John hoped it had killed all of the germs. When it was suitably heated, he placed the bacon in and let it sizzle for a few seconds before cracking an egg. He looked around for a place to put the shells and thought to ask Mrs. Hudson if she would care for them. “Oh how kind, dear. That would be lovely.” her voice was clear, if a little muffled by the frying pan. He tossed the shells into her mouth and she crunched them daintily. 

He had cooked the bacon and was toasting some bread over Mrs. Hudson’s tickling hand-flames when they heard the click of the dial downstairs. Molly and Mrs. Hudson exchanged a glance, John did his best to act nonchalant as they listened to Wizard Holmes take the stairs two at a time. They heard him pause in the doorway, “Master Holmes!” Molly said quickly, “Inspectors from Seahaven and London called, they both want you to look into some case for them.” 

“Boring.” he dismissed it with a flick of his hand. “And who is this?” he didn’t precisely ask it though. It was as if he already knew the answer and was just reciting lines he was expected to say.

“Sherlock, what have you been up to?” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, giving the toast one last lick of her flames. “You’re just in time for breakfast, this is John. I’ve hired him to help out around The Castle.” John was finally able to raise his gaze to look at Holmes only to find himself treated to the same amused look that he’d seen when he’s shaken the wizard’s hand the last time they’d met. “Well hello, John.” he said. 

“Hello Wizard Holmes.” John replied nervously. “Please, call me Sherlock.” he said and promptly threw himself, cloak and all, to sprawl across the couch, heedless to the paperwork lying everywhere. He steepled his fingers under his chin and closed his eyes. John looked at Molly and Mrs. Hudson questioningly and they both shrugged. John decided he’d treat this as if nothing odd was happening. As if strange old men who were actually young men showed up in Holmes living room everyday. They plated their meals and sat down around the coffee table. John placed a plate and tea cup in front of Holmes’ still form, wondering if Holmes would even bother to eat it. 

“I said call me Sherlock, John.” Holmes- er, Sherlock said and John started, wondering if he’d said all of that aloud. “No you weren’t speaking, you were thinking loudly. Now, what’s that note you have in your pocket?”

“Huh? Note?” John patted his hip and did indeed feel something in his pocket. “He pulled out a slip of paper and Sherlock pivoted to sit up straight on the couch, reaching across to take the note John offered. The instant it touched his fingers, it burst into flames and crumpled landed on the toast Sherlock hadn’t touched. 

“Scorch marks! Master Holmes can you read them?” Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock examined the marks that had melted through the butter and onto the bread of his toast. “It says I.O.U. Obviously it’s a message from Moriarty.” Sherlock suddenly swept up off the couch and headed up the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson, heat up some water for my bath and move the Castle 50 miles to the north” he called back as he left.

“Not you housekeeper!” Mrs. Hudson grumbled but she assented and John gave her some extra firewood to appease her. After he’d fed the logs to the thankful fire demon, he turned to see Molly looking at him. 

“You’re not working for Moriarty, are you?” she asked suspiciously. John was suddenly overcome with anger.

“I would never work for that piece of..Why he’s the one who put this…” His face screwed up under the effort of explaining his predicament and being unable. He finally bit out, in his most threatening tone. “If I ever get my hands on that Wizard…” Molly held her hands up placatingly, to show she meant no harm. John advised her to finish her breakfast and decided he would use the rest of his anger to start in on cleaning the disaster zone that was The Castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out Dolly is not Molly...I didn't realize that until I started writing this chapter.


	6. Cleaning Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John cleans the Castle.

John spent the day cleaning the Castle. He started with the kitchen, scrubbing all of the dishes with a vigor that made his bad shoulder ache. Then he moved on to the refrigerator where he thought he would label each item but when he couldn’t even identify most of them he settled for categorizing them as ‘definitely’ edible’ and ‘other’ and placed them on different shelves. Molly was still hovering around with a worried air, so he had her organize the papers that lay on every surface. The minute any flat area was cleared he attacked it with a wet rag and cleaning solution. 

He’d just finished laying down the rugs that were now beaten free of dust when Mrs. Hudson’s weak cries for help registered. He had been so caught up in cleaning that her calls of “John, John. I really don’t mean to be a bother but I need a little help here.” went completely unnoticed. He turned to look at her and she was indeed in some distress, she was clinging to the last chunk of firewood available to her surrounded by what appeared to be a mountain range of ashes. John cursed himself for not thinking to clean out the filthy fireplace first. If he had, Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t be panicking right now and he wouldn’t be about to ruin all the hard work he’d put into cleaning the floors. Grumbling, he looked around trying to decide how best to clean a fireplace around a living fire. He chose a small ice bucket from the haphazard minibar next to the fireplace and used the fire tongs to gingerly pick up Mrs. Hudson’s chunk of wood and balance it across the lip of the pail. She seemed precarious and uncomfortable with the situation but he decided it was the best he could do, and he’d be quick about cleaning the grate so she wouldn’t have to worry for long. “Yes, yes Mrs. Hudson, I’ll just be a moment. Don’t worry!” he reassured her distractedly as he scraped the mountains of ash onto an old sheet. He bundled it up and took it out the Seahaven door where the clouds of ash rose up into the air and he ignored the annoyed glares of the passersby.

When he got back inside it was just in time to see Sherlock, who had been absent until now, reach into the ice bucket and lift out a weakened Mrs. Hudson. Since being placed in the bucket she must have used up the remaining bit of wood and now appeared to be a small blue flame surrounding what looked like a soft, palm-sized core instead of her usual warm red glow. John’s heart leapt in his throat, what happened if a fire demon went out? He hadn’t thought of it that way. As he watching, Sherlock held her up in gently cupped hands and blew onto her as if her were coaxing sparks into life. It worked and she flared back to a reddish glow within his palms, gazing up at him thankfully. Sherlock’s eyes were the kindest John had ever seen them as he looked back at the fire demon. He transferred her to his left hand and grabbed a log with the other. Placing the log in the fireplace, he plopped her down onto it. She immediately fluttered out to spread along the length of the wood with a relieved sigh. “Oh thank you, Sherlock.” she exclaimed in a still weak voice. 

Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder at John who was still standing in the doorway, paralyzed by what he’d almost done.

“Try not kill my fire demon, will you?” he said, a look of annoyance tinged with amusement on his face. 

Molly, who had disappeared upstairs, now came scurrying in as if she’d sensed the tension in the room. Sherlock didn’t even glance at her as he retrieved his cloak from a hook on the wall.   
“Molly, make sure John doesn’t let his new position go to his head.” he called, swinging the cloak over his shoulders with his usual flourish. He went down the stairs and they heard the dial click and he was off.

“What did you do?” Molly asked, wide-eyed.

“I’ll tell you what he did, he almost killed me!” Mrs. HUdson supplied in outrage. “I hope you know that if I die, Sherlock dies too!”

John was sorry, but also embarrassed at his irresponsible actions. He hadn’t thought to ask Mrs. Hudson how to move her safely, endangering not only her but Sherlock as well somehow? His guilt made his apology sound more gruff than sincere, a quick “So sorry, Mrs. Hudson.” was all he was able to get out as he finished cleaning up around the fireplace. Then he escaped upstairs, leaving a grumbling Mrs. Hudson behind. Upstairs he found the filthy bathroom behind the first door he tried. Sighing at the mess, he decided he would prop open the small window and get a little air circulating so he didn’t die from the fumes. When he managed to shove it open however, cool wind whistled through the opening. John stuck his outside, when he looked down he could see the Castle moving quickly through green fields. He had almost forgotten that among other things, this building was Holmes’ Moving Castle, and was on the move all the time. He wondered how that could possibly slip his mind and then remembered the remarkable door that led to four different places. Pulling his head back inside he ran for the stairs so he was slightly out of breath when he reached the living room. “Mrs. Hudson is that you? Are you the one moving the Castle?” he asked breathlessly. 

“Of course it is, dear. Who else would be doing it?” she sniffed, still annoyed with him. 

“This is absolutely amazing!” he gushed. “I like your spark!” he grinned and raced back up the stairs. 

Back in the living room, Mrs. Hudson blushed a deeper shade of red at the compliment. “He likes my spark!” she whispered to herself, completely forgiving John’s earlier transgressions and putting on an extra burst of speed just for the fun of it. 

Unaware that he’d succeeded in charming the grumpy fire demon, John was able to locate an exterior door so he could have a better view of where they were headed. He wrenched it open and found himself on a small balcony and gasped at the view from this moving vantage point. There were rolling hills of green and he could just hear the dull roar of the ocean over the grind of metal from the Castle. He heard the door open again and Molly joined him at the balcony railing. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked “Master Holmes and Mrs. Hudson must really like you, we almost never come out to Sussex.” she smiled at John and he smiled back automatically but surprised that the statement. Before he could ask what she meant though, her attention was caught by something over his shoulder.

“Hang on, what’s that? A stick stuck in the gears? That can’t be good.” she said.

Taking a closer look, John recognized the stick. “I know just who that is,” he said, “Give us a hand, she has a nasty habit of getting stuck upside down.” Together they levered Dolly up and out of the gear where she’d been wedged. She hopped up onto a higher level of the Castle happy to be free. Molly gave a surprised laugh. “Who is that?” she asked as the watched the scarecrow’s antics. 

“I don’t know, exactly.” John answered honestly, “I’ve been calling her Dolly, I help her get rightside up and she does me favors in return.”

Molly looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “And you’re sure you’re not a wizard?” she asked.

“If I were I wouldn’t be dreading cleaning Sherlock’s bathroom, would I?” John said and Molly giggled again.

When John had cleaned and organized the bathroom into something that no longer resembled a toxic waste dump site, he tackled the laundry. With reluctant help from Dolly, he managed to hang clothes and linen on clothesline tethered to various places on the exterior of the Castle which had stopped for a break. It rested on its metal haunches atop a high white cliff overlooking the water. Molly and John hauled out a small table and chairs and enjoyed their tea while the salt spray filled their noses and the clean clothes flapped on the line. After a while, Molly went back inside to work on experiments and spells in the Castle’s laboratory. It seemed Sherlock’s apprentice was mostly self-taught and she seemed to relish her independence. 

John remained in his seat gazing at the view, lost in his thoughts. He decided that when you’re old all you want to do is look at the scenery. But he also decided that as old as the curse made him feel, he knew in his heart that he was still a young man and he wasn’t willing to give up his youth just yet. Not without a fight. When the set had set, Molly came back out to help bring in the table and tea things so Mrs. Hudson could move the Castle to a new location and John went back inside to get ready for bed.

Late that night, when Molly had retired to her upstairs room and John had stretched out on the leather sofa in the sitting room, Mrs. Hudson sat and contemplated the day and the changes it had brought to the Castle. Thanks to John it was cleaner than she had ever seen it, and the way he’d taken charge had been exceptional. John hadn’t cringed at the body parts in the fridge or the odd things on the bookshelves, he hadn’t judged the strange living situation of a moving castle that had doors into different cities and an owner who went by three different names, he had taken all of this in stride. Not because he was cowed by Sherlock’s presence like Molly, though he was certainly smitten with him, he just seemed to accept him as he was and Mrs. Hudson felt that was rare.

She heard the dial at the door click over and a few minutes later Sherlock came slowly up the stairs. He was a mess, covered in dark feathers, his feet in the shape of a hawk’s talons. He perched on his favorite leather and chrome chair, curled in on himself and shuddered back into his human form, though it seemed like a struggle. Keeping her voice low, Mrs. Hudson chided him.   
“You really do look awful Sherlock, you’re pushing yourself too hard. One day you’ll be too exhausted to turn yourself back and then where will we be?”

He ignored her admonishments, as usual. “Moriarty is looking for me.” he said instead. 

“Did you see him?” she asked, concern on her wavering face.

“No, but some of those wizards that work for him saw me for a second. I took them on a merry chase and lost them before I came back here.” he said.

“Those wizards will never forgive themselves for allying with him.” she replied.

“They won’t even remember they were wizards when he’s finished with them. All that will be left will be monsters.” he sighed. There was silence for a minute. Mrs. Hudson reached out and grabbed a new log from a conveniently located pile. “Look, isn’t this nice? John set them here so I can reach them easily. Wasn’t that kind of him?” she said, trying to change the subject.

Sherlock stood and said “Run some hot water for my bath, would you?” Mrs. Hudson sighed but decided to forgo her usual reply, choosing instead to say “I don’t think you should go out on your own so much. You need someone with you to watch out for you and for you to watch out for in return. I think you’d take fewer chances with a partner.” Sherlock stepped closer to the couch and they both looked at the sleeping form of John who, in his sleep was unaffected by his curse, and looked as young as he did the day he and Sherlock met in the alley. Then Sherlock sniffed and turned to go up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd meant to write and type this up yesterday but then got caught up at the hospital most of the day with a friend's new baby so it had to wait until today. Thanks for the encouragement, I will keep going, I promise!


	7. An Epic Hissy Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Molly go grocery shopping. Sherlock indulges in dramatics.

The sound of rushing water in pipes woke John from a dream in which he was being watched by a pair of catlike eyes whose colors shifted like clouds moving across the sun. He couldn’t tell what time it was but the sky outside the windows was still dark. 

“Was that Sherlock?” he asked Mrs. Hudson in a sleep muddled voice, running his hands over his face and feeling the still unfamiliar wrinkles there. It was hard to focus on her face, since she was the one light source in the dim room, but the fire demon sounded sad when she complained about Sherlock taking her water heating skills for granted. John nodded sleepily, wondering for a moment where Sherlock had been for so long but quickly forgot as he dropped back off to sleep.

In the morning Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John and Molly had breakfast together, they toasted the last of the bread and ate them with cups of bitter tea that would really be improved with some milk, of which they had none. When they finished, John decided they needed to go to the market so there would be food for lunch and dinner. 

He dragged Molly along because she had Sherlock’s money. She protested as they left by the Seahaven door, “Master Holmes barely eats, and I can conjure up small things!” She looked at the townspeople around her distrustfully. It was clear Molly preferred her experiments in the lab to real people.

“Well I can’t.” John replied “And you can’t conjure enough food to feed a cat. I watched you this morning, remember? Your attempt at an apple was admirable, but exactly substantial. Anyway, I want to cook a curry tonight to thank you all for letting me stay--er giving me a job. And maybe we’ll be able to coax Sherlock into eating.” This seemed to amuse Molly and she went along more easily. 

They were at the market and Molly was pointing out things Sherlock would refuse to eat- some of which John passed over while others he bought out a sense of challenge- when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Suddenly alert, he used an untied shoelace as an excuse to turn and check his surroundings. Under the guise of crouching to fiddle with the lace, he looked around them carefully, yet casually. What he saw caused the breath to lock in his chest. Hollis and his two henchmen stood not five feet away, surveying the crowds menacingly. John didn’t think Moriarty’s men had spotted him, but he couldn’t be sure.

Molly finished paying for a bottle of milk and turned , about to say something when she noticed John was no longer standing beside her. She glanced down and immediately crouched beside him on the ground. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you fall down? Are you hurt?” Her eyes were full of compassion and worry and her hands fluttered around him as she tried to ascertain what ailed him. 

“What? No, I’m fine.” John said distractedly, springing quickly to his feet. He reached down to give her a hand up. “I just needed to retie my shoe, that’s all.” He tried to appear nonchalant so they wouldn’t attract the attention of Hollis and his men. He kept one eye on them and the other on Molly who was giving him a strange look as if confused by his behavior. He wondered at that for a moment but then Hollis’ eyes swept over them in the crowd and John tensed in readiness. But then Hollis’ eyes continued on without pausing. For a second John couldn’t understand why he didn’t get a reaction from Hollis. He doubted he’d been forgotten from their meeting in the alley and Hollis didn’t seem the type to let bygones be bygones. Then John remembered what he looked like now. He hardly recognized himself, even the great Sherlock Holmes didn’t recognize him, someone like Hollis would never connect the little old man by the sea with the young man in a dark alley. 

He breathed out in relief, but wasn’t willing to stick around and test his theory out. “I think we’ve got enough for a few days, Molly. Let’s head back.” he said quickly. Molly was caught off balance but agreed quickly enough.

They were unloading their haul into kitchen cabinets and the refrigerator, John lost in his own ponderings on why Moriarty’s men were searching the town of Seahaven, when they a heard a mighty crash from above. John looked upward curiously and Molly flinched. They heard someone thundering down the stairs. Seconds later, Sherlock exploded into the room, eyes blazing.

“John! Look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done to me!” he wailed, fisting his formerly silver locks frantically. 

John was a bit distracted by the fact that Sherlock appeared to be wearing a white bedsheet. Wearing only a white bedsheet. So it took him a moment to notice that Sherlock’s curls were no longer a gleaming silver, but instead a shock of ginger. “Oh Sherlock, you look lovely!” called Mrs. Hudson from the sitting room. She’s right, John thought, he does look lovely. He cut off his thoughts quickly because Sherlock was obviously quite upset about this turn of events. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to go overboard? I specifically remember telling Molly not to let you get power mad and now you’ve gone and ruined all of my potions and now I look like...like this!” he gestured wildly at his head.

“Is it my fault you don’t read the labels on your own potions?” John said calmly. Molly was cowering in a corner making herself appear as tiny as possible and Mrs. Hudson had stopped calling out cheeky compliments about the shade, but they both looked at John in shock. Even Sherlock paused for a second, inhaling sharply through his nostrils. John refused to cowed by the thunderous expression on his face. They stared each other down for a minute and then Sherlock flung himself down onto his leather and chrome chair and pulled his legs up, folding in on himself. The sheet slid down, revealing one pale shoulder, as he sat on the end of it. John was proud he didn’t let his gaze wander.

“I bet you even messed up my sock index.” Sherlock grumbled sulkily after a few minutes of silence. John rolled his eyes, “I assure you I didn’t touch your socks. Wait, you index your socks? That’s the one thing you organize?” he asked, in an attempt to get a rise out of the wizard. 

Instead, the man slouched further in his seat and glared morosely at his knees. The hair on his head changed from vibrant ginger to a glaring a fuschia and finally to deep, dark brown. “Oh Sherlock, you should see it now.” John couldn’t help himself from breathing in awe. The dark coloring accented Sherlock’s pale skin perfectly and he had a feeling those quicksilver eyes would be even more stunning because of the contrast. If only he’d look up so he could confirm it. He reached out tentatively to touch Sherlock’s bared shoulder, hoping to rouse him. But instead of smooth skin, he encountered a slimy, sticky substance. Pulling his hand back, strands of the strange viscous liquid clung to his fingers. “Sherlock!” he said sharply, concern in voice.

“He’s calling on the forces of darkness. I saw him do it once when the witch Irene Adler tricked him.” Molly whispered from the corner as dark shapes began swirling around them and Sherlock’s form oozed more liquid that seeped into his sheet. John glared at his unresponsive form. 

“Sherlock, cut it out. You’re scaring Molly. More than usual.” there was still no reaction. “Is this what you do every time something goes slightly wrong? Or do you just see no point in living if you can’t be beautiful. Because if you think this is going to change how...you know someone of us have never been beautiful and we’ve lived quite satisfactory lives, okay?” John decided he was fed up with powerful wizards who threw hissy fits over trivial things. “Right. I’m going out.” he said crisply, spun on his heel and clomped down the stairs. 

He chose the dial setting for the Wastes because he knew he’d have a little privacy in that barren landscape. When he stepped outside it was pissing down rain, which did little to cool his anger. If anything, it seemed fitting for the day, no week, he was having. Suddenly, the unfairness of it all seemed hit him. He stood looking out at the moors, rain and tears mixing on his cheek, and wished he had something to punch. After a few minutes he felt the rain stop hitting him, looking up he saw Dolly was holding a battered umbrella over his head keeping most of the droplets at bay. He sniffed and smiled up at her. “Thanks Dolly, you’re always so helpful.”

“John! John!” Molly’s cut through the rain and wind. He turned and saw her frantically hopping up and down on the stoop of the Castle. “You’ve got to come back! Master Holmes is in trouble!” John sighed and smiled up at Molly again, “Guess someone has to get him out this strop. Ta, Dolly.” he shuffled back toward the Castle.

When he entered the sitting room he rolled his eyes at the sight that met him. The air had turned cold and sinister shadows climbed the walls. Sherlock was still in his chair, but he’d turned a sickly green and was oozing everywhere. The sheet was no longer a shroud hiding his body, but clung to him damply revealing the shape of his long limbs. A rivulet of the strange goo was making it’s where toward the fireplace and a nervous Mrs. Hudson. “I’m sure he’ll be right back, Sherlock. John wasn’t actually leaving. Oh there you are, dear, he was most upset when he thought you left and I think it’s made him worse. Look, Sherlock here’s John now!” Shaking his head and sighing, John crossed to the wizard’s side. He thought he detected a flicker of eye movement but he wasn’t sure.

“Come on, you great git.” John said, leaning over the still form. “We need to get you cleaned up. That will make you feel better. And once you see how your hair looks, you’ll really cheer up. Who knew wizards were so sensitive?” He heard Sherlock scoff lightly, as he hooked his hands under his arms and heaved him to his feet. 

Or he attempted to, Sherlock seemed to be boneless as well as oozing. Draping an arm over his shoulder and ignoring the clamminess of Sherlock’s skin, John looked in Molly’s direction. “Will you run ahead and turn on the shower for us? I need to get him cleaned up.” The girl nodded jerkily and raced up the stairs.

“Let’s go, Sherlock. Cor, you are heavier than you look.” They slowly made their way towards the stairs. John could feel that Sherlock’s sheet was slipping but there was not much he do about it at this point. And he’d have to take it off when they got to the bathroom anyway. Suddenly he felt it give and heard the wet plop of it as it landed on the stair behind them. Glancing back he saw it tumble down a few steps before stopping and he quickly turned head up toward the ceiling, cheeks flaming at the realization that he had a completely naked Sherlock Holmes draped over him. 

He managed to get them up the stairs and into the bath without injury. He had to remind himself again and again that he was a doctor and not a voyeur as he shoved Sherlock under the shower’s spray and efficiently scrubbed him down. Molly had helpfully put out a pair of pajama bottoms and a worn t-shirt so he dressed Sherlock in those after toweling him dry. He could tell the wizard was starting to come out of his strop, but he seemed exhausted by the effort. He was able to walk on his own now and John steered him toward his bedroom where Sherlock flopped down, sprawling on his stomach and taking up as much space as he could, so much different than the way he’d folded in on himself earlier. That sight alone made John breathe more easily. Did he do this sort of thing often? It couldn’t be healthy. He’d have to ask Mrs. Hudson about it.

He closed the bedroom door softly and started down the stairs again, blushing anew when he came upon the sheet. When he picked it up it was still heavy with whatever goo Sherlock had been producing and he sighed, realizing he was going to have to clean all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think this would take so long, I really was looking forward to writing about Sherlock in that sheet, but you know how it goes. Life.


	8. Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to coax Sherlock out of his funk and learns some things about the wizard.

Sherlock didn’t come down the next morning but Mrs. Hudson assured John this was not surprising after such an episode. “He’s just been pushing himself too hard.” she tutted.. “I’m sure he just needs the rest.” 

So john decided not to worry too much. He mopped the floor again and washed Sherlock’s sheet, resolutely not thinking about the naked form it had swaddled the night before. When that was done he decided to write a letter to his sister. He felt guilty that in all of the excitement of the last week, he had not thought to contact her or even explain his continued absence from work. He was sure Harry must be frantic and his job taken by some other doctor. 

It wasn’t easy figuring out how to explain his whereabouts without mentioning the curse. It seemed he was unable to even to describe his curse in writing. Every time he tried, his pen went haywire, scribbling all over the page. After several attempts he decided keeping it short and vague would be best. His final product to Harry read, “Sorry I’ve not been around. Some things have come up, but I’m okay. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch soon. Love, John.” To Mike and the clinic he wrote, “Still recuperating, not sure when I’ll be able to return.” He wasn’t sure what else he could say without lying outright. He posted the letters from a box near the London Door.

He made his special curry for dinner, hoping the smells would entice Sherlock downstairs. It did not. Molly came down though, and was eager to discuss her day’s experiments over fragrant bowls of curried veggies and meat and steamed brown rice. After dinner they moved into the sitting room to chat with Mrs. Hudson. She heated a pot of water for tea and Molly wrote up some notes while John perused the overstuffed bookshelves. He chose a classic adventure tale he remembered enjoying as a boy and settled in to read. The evening passed quietly and John couldn’t decide if that contented or bored him. 

When he woke the next morning, Mrs. Hudson answered before he could even ask, “He still hasn’t been down, dear.” Together they assembled a breakfast tray of tea and toast. John buttered the bread after the fire demon toasted it and pouring boiling water over tea leaves in a ceramic teapot. John arranged it all, along with a cup and saucer, sugar, milk, and an assortment of jams on a tray. He gingerly carried it all upstairs, not an easy task with his limp and the narrow stairwell. Nearing the closed door of Sherlock’s bedroom, John took a nervous breath. Would he still be in a rotten mood? And if so, what was John supposed to do about it?

Well, there was no use standing out here holding the heavy tray. If Sherlock didn’t want to eat, John would at least be able to set it down somewhere and give his arms a rest. If there was any clean or flat surface available. John had avoided Sherlock’s bedroom during his cleaning spree and he hadn’t spared the room a glance when he’d been inside it last night. No, he’d been too preoccupied by Sherlock’s long limbs sprawled out like a starfish across the bed. He suspected the room was much the same state as the rest of the Castle when he’d arrived. He braced himself for the worst- for both the squalor of the room and an unpredictable wizard. Much as his soldierly instincts hated it, he was forced to push open the door with his elbow and enter the room backward, the tray in his hands making it impossible to do so normally. He felt vulnerable this way but there was nothing he could do about it. When he pivoted into the room, he let out a surprised gust of air. Sometime in the past day or so, Sherlock had migrated until he was under the gray silk duvet. He was lying peacefully on his back and his once silver hair now curled in ebony whorls against the white pillow case and his pale forehead. Despite his appearance of slumber and the assumption that he’d spent the last few days sleeping, there were purple crescents under his eyes. His cheeks had darker hollows, which made his high cheekbones all the more razor sharp. It looked like all his rest had actually not done him any good. But as much concern as his appearance prompted, it was the room that had caused John’s first surprised response. Instead of the messy chaos he’d been expecting, he now saw that it was neat enough to pass army inspection. The sheets were rumpled but the rest of the room was tidy and orderly. 

Besides the bed there was a rocking chair, a large wardrobe and a nightstand. All were free of dust and the expected piles of dirty clothes. The walls were mostly bare, except for a framed poster of the magical elements, their symbols shimmering slightly where they were arranged into a modified version of the periodic table. There was also a framed certificate and a dart board that was papered in official looking letters that were all bristling with darts. John shook his head, once again the wizard had surprised him. 

“Sherlock?” he said quietly, breaking the silence of the room. “I’ve brought you some breakfast. You really should eat something.” He saw movement under Sherlock’s eyelids before the lashes fluttered and lifted. “You’re still here?” he asked hoarsely. It sounded like he was going for accusing but it came out wondering. 

“Haven’t wandered off yet.” John assured him lightly. He set the breakfast tray carefully on the vacant side of the bed and straightened, wincing as a few joints popped and creaked. “It would take me too long to get anywhere.” he continued, patting his bad leg disparagingly. Sherlock’s gaze focused on him, lazer sharp under half closed lids. “Yes.” he said slowly, “You don’t seem to be moving very quickly these days, do you?”

John coughed out a laugh at just how close to the truth Sherlock had come with that statement. “Not lately, no.” he said with a rueful smile. 

Movement caught his eye and he turned to see a small device similar to metronomes he’d seen used by musicians to keep time. It was oscillating back and forth, but not in the even and regular rhythm one would expect from a normal metronome. Sometimes it paused in its back and forth motion, leaning in its furthest position before swaying back. Or it swung wildly back and forth only to slow down for a few ticks. It was mesmerizing to watch and John couldn’t help but ask, “What is that?” 

Sherlock was staring at the ceiling but he must’ve known exactly what John was referring to because he didn’t even turn his head to reply. “It’s a device I developed to detect when other wizards are trying to locate me.” he said in a bored tone. John thought back to the visitors Sherlock had received at his different magical doors and wondered why he had so many disguises and wished to hide from other wizards. Sherlock went on, “I...don’t play well with others.” he said, breaking into John’s thoughts. “So it seemed the easiest way to avoid the annoying wizards I studied with at the Royal Academy was to invent something that told me when they were looking for me.” he said, eyes still trained on the ceiling. “Brilliant.” John muttered, “But doesn’t that get lonely, not having anyone of your own kind to talk to?” he asked. Sherlock just scoffed. “I don’t have time for those simpletons. Every wizard I’ve ever met has been disappointingly dull, with two exceptions. And I want nothing to do with either of them. Besides, I’ve had my experiments to focus on, Molly to train, the pathetic humans to help, and Mrs. Hudson to keep me company. And...now you’re here. I don’t need other wizards taking up my time.” John felt his face flush a little at Sherlock’s addition of his name to the select list. The wizard detector swished quickly back and forth, distracting him from that train of thought, the needle gave off a few black sparks. Sherlock’s attention flicked to it for a second but when it quickly resumed its normal erratic motion he went back to staring at the ceiling. 

“What was that?” John asked curiously. Sherlock heaved a sigh. “That means Moriarty is looking for me. He is one of those exceptions to the rule of dull wizards. But I have neither the time nor the desire to interact with him.” he said. John stiffened at the mention of Moriarty’s name but loosened his jaw enough to ask. “Moriarty? Why do you not want to meet him?” 

“Oh, he wants my heart.” Sherlock said blithely “Even when I assured him that I have been told time and again that I do not possess one.” John was flabbergasted. “He...wants your heart?” he asked, confusion written all over his face. “Yes, I crossed him or outdid him in something while we were at the Academy- I can’t even recall what- and now he’s determined to ‘burn the heart out of me.’ That is literally what he says. It is all too dramatic, especially as I prefer to be the dramatic one.” he said smoothing his hands over the counterpane. “I find it easier to avoid him and he amuses himself by amassing his little criminal empire. Since we both avoid our official duties, it’s that much easier.” 

John cocked his head at this new piece of information about wizarding life. “You have official duties?” he asked. Sherlock motioned to the papered dart board and John walked over to give it a closer look. What had before looked like official papers were now obviously royal summons for the Wizard Holmes to report to the palace for assignment. 

“If I answer them, they’ll just give me some boring assignment. A spell or incantation for some member of Parliament or minor royal. I can’t be bothered, but the summons’ just keep coming. You’ve seen the mantelpiece downstairs.” John nodded, thinking of the stacks of papers affixed to the mantel with a vicious looking dagger. 

He realized suddenly that Sherlock was gazing at him assessingly. “What?” he said, flustered at the unexpected attention. 

“I just realized what I’m going to do about the summons.” John raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”   
“Yes. I’m going to put my best man on it.” he said. 

“Oh that’s good.” John replied, relieved Sherlock was going to fulfill his duty for Queen and Country. But when Sherlock said no more, just continued to gaze at John his relief turned to suspicion. “You don’t mean...me?” he stammered. 

“Of course!” Sherlock said with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNoWriMo is over (and I finished! 50k words in 30 days) so I'm back and hopefully there will be regular updates to this!
> 
> This hasn't been edited or Brit-picked so please let me know if anything is horribly wrong!


	9. A Makeover and a Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You want me to go to the Tower of London for you. And what? Give your apologies to this Master Mycroft?” he asked incredulously..

John looked warily at Sherlock where he now sat propped up on his pillows, grinning like the madman he undoubtedly was. 

“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You want me to go to the Tower of London for you. And what? Give your apologies to this Master Mycroft?” he asked incredulously..

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t call him Master, he’s a gluttonous busybody and doesn’t deserve the title, even if he thinks he does.” he spat resentfully. “All you have to do is tell him or one of his many lackeys that I’m far too busy to come in for a visit and that he can kindly ‘piss off’ or ‘go to the devil.’ I really don’t care what phrasing you use, so long as he gets the message.” he flicked his long fingers dismissively. John started and then shifted uncomfortably, his military training balking at the very idea of speaking so rudely to a figure that high up the chain of command.

“Oh, sure. I’ve no problem telling off powerful government officials, no make that powerful, magical government officials. All in a day’s work for me.” John grumbled. Sherlock’s face took on an amused expression at John’s annoyance. “And who exactly am I supposed to tell them I am? I can’t exactly tell them my true identity, can I?” I can’t even tell you, John thought to himself, as he voiced his objections. Sherlock gave him his considering look again.

“If I were there, I’d simply insist you were with me and that would be enough.” he said, musingly “But I suppose we’ll say you’re my assistant or secretary or amanuensis. Whatever you prefer…”

And that was how John found himself standing in the living room, warmed by Mrs. Hudson’s glow, and kitted out in a sharper more fashionable version of the outfit he’d been wearing when he first entered the Castle. He pulled his old woolen jumper over his head, reassured by it’s familiar warmth and weight. Sherlock appeared from the kitchen where he’d been rummaging in a drawer. His face crumpled a bit when he registered the jumper’s appearance. 

“You’re going to wear that hideous thing after all the work I went through to make your outfit actually presentable?” he complained peevishly.

“If you’re so worried about appearances, maybe you should get dressed and go to the palace yourself.” John replied testily, pulling the cuffs of his shirt so they lay straight and smooth beneath his long sleeves. He had to admit, if only to himself, he liked the way the magically tailored trousers and shirt fit. They made him feel a sight more fit than he looked thanks to the effects of the curse, but he wasn’t about to tell Sherlock. The wizard, inspired by the prospect of improving John’s abysmal wardrobe, had finally left his room but he was still wearing his pajamas and dressing gown. 

John glanced down at his bad leg. He wondered how it would fare on the long walk up to the palace. Sherlock rolled his eyes, causing John to wonder if they ever ached from the repeated movement, but the wizard merely flicked his hands and a wooden cane flew into his open palm. A small skull carved from ivory, surely it wasn’t an actual skull John assured himself, formed the handle and it fit perfectly in John’s grasp. 

“Don’t let him get into too much trouble while I’m gone, Mrs. Hudson.” John said over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs to the door. He hear her assent and a faint “Good luck!” from Molly. Just as he reached the door, he felt a rush of air and suddenly Sherlock was there, looming up behind him. Curls settling around his face after the abrupt arrival, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand before he could turn the doorknob. Gently extending John’s first finger, he slid a heavy signet ring onto it. John looked down at its heavy weight and then up into Sherlock’s face, which was much closer than he’d expected in the dark vestibule. The wizard’s eyes seemed to glow as he peered at him.

“This charm will ensure your safe return.” He said confidently in a voice that vibrated through John’s chest. “And just in case, I’ll be following behind you in disguise to make sure you don’t screw everything up.” He winked at John, who knew he should be offended at the implication but finding it difficult to breath, let alone formulate a comeback. Before he could do either he felt a broad hand at his back and Sherlock’s voice in his ear saying, “Now, off you go!” and he was suddenly out on a bright London street. 

Blinking at the sudden light, John looked around and sighed to himself. “Why do I have the feeling this is not going to end well?” he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose briefly before trudging off in the direction of the Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, it just seemed an appropriate ending for this portion and I have to puzzle out what we'll be doing with Moriarty in the next chapter! If you're still reading along, thanks so much! And if you have any ideas/thoughts on where this should all go, let me know in the comments. I am definitely open to suggestions. :)


	10. The Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adler pursed her red lips and shook her head. She ran her sharp fingernails along John’s jawline. “I’m afraid my talent lies in other areas. Besides, the wizard who put that one on you would have me for shoes if I interfered.”

John marched as quickly as possible through the lovely day, making good time despite his cane and the infernal limp. He found himself glancing around, wondering what form Sherlock would use for a disguise. As he walked through a park he saw a pair of chattering squirrels chasing each other around the trunk of a large oak tree, “No, too stupid.” he said shaking his head at the thought of the great Wizard Holmes deigning to disguise himself as an insipid rodent. The sullen teen leaning against the corner of the building was a possibility, John thought to himself. Sherlock often looked as bored with the world as a teenager, but he was probably too vain to give himself that many spots even if it were for a disguise. John winced and looked away quickly when the youth suddenly looked over at him. A pleasure craft fluttered over their heads causing both John and the kid to look upward. A young couple, flush with good health and obvious wealth, clung to the precarious rails as the small craft buzzed around above the street traffic taking them in roughly the same direction that John was traveling. ‘That could be him’, John thought irritably. ‘It would be just like him to be so showy about a disguise.’ He made his way slowly along the banks of the Thames toward the Tower as the couple flew off toward the horizon, tipping dangerously from side to side as they struggled with balance and the controls. ‘It could be worse. At least I don’t have to fly one of those’, John reassured himself and shuddered. He had a tendency to get airsick and had never learned to fly any of the many flying contraptions that were growing so popular these days. 

The pleasant weather and relatively empty sidewalks made his walk pass quickly. John found himself almost enjoying the outing and was successful in putting the real reason for it out of his head for several minutes as he soaked up the sunshine. In fact, it wasn’t until he was quite close to the Tower that realized he wasn’t alone. When he first felt the presence (and really he should’ve been paying more attention to his surroundings) he risked a casual glance over his shoulder, but he saw no one. Still he was certain he was being followed or watched. He counted out 10 more steps and then pretended he’d noticed a loose lace on his shoe. He knelt to retie it and used the opportunity to look behind him again. There was still no one behind him, unless he wanted to count the sleek black cat cleaning herself a few paces away. John mentally shrugged his shoulders and straightened up, continuing on his way. A few seconds later and they feeling returned. This time he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced down to find that the black cat was now trotting alongside him, keeping pace. 

“Sherlock?” John asked tentatively “Is...is that you?” he couldn’t be certain but he could’ve sworn the cat sent him a condescending look. It could’ve just been the way a cat looks at a human or it could’ve been Sherlock’s patented ‘Don’t be an idiot’ look, it was hard to tell on the furry face. Still, he had to assume the mere fact that a cat was keeping in step with him was some sort of sign, and this form seemed like just the kind of form Sherlock would take. It fit his personality perfectly, John decided. So he carried on with his walk, carrying on a one-sided conversation with the feline form at his side. And if people looked at him oddly, he found it didn’t bother him as it might have once. Old men were supposed to be a bit potty, right? 

As he neared Tower entrance, a long shining car pulled up along the kerb not far from him. An attractive young woman held open the back door as a slender figure slid from the vehicle. She stood on the pavement gazing at a device in her hand and her momentary stillness gave John ample time to observe her. She was tall and angular, her height emphasized but the tall points on the heels of her shoes. Her skin was pale, almost as white as the form fitting dress she wore, and her dark hair was coiled back from her face in a fashion John was sure took ages to perfect. Just as he thought this, the woman looked up from her small black phone and locked eyes with him. He could see now that her cheekbones were almost as sharp as Sherlock’s and with his newly blackened hair, they would have made quite a striking, though dangerous, pair. She was obviously about to dismiss him with a sniff, but instead her nostrils flared as if she was scenting something on the air. She prowled over to him, her heels click-clicking predatorily. She circled him, leaning down to inhale deeply. John found himself rooted in place, this was certainly not something he’d been expecting to happen and he wasn’t sure how to respond to this strangely alluring woman sniffing him like she could identify him by smell. Long fingers ending with blood red nails reached up to grasp his chin and he found himself looking into her ice blue eyes. After a few seconds of intense staring she released him and stepped back. 

“So you’re Sherlock’s newest pet.” She said, and since it wasn’t exactly phrased as a question, he chose not to answer. It suddenly dawned on him that this must be the witch Irene Adler. Hadn’t Molly mentioned something about her and Sherlock? John made a conscious effort not to look down at the cat twining around his ankles. Sherlock didn’t seem distressed by the witch but he wasn’t sure how quickly that could change and John didn’t want to be responsible for putting him in danger by pointing out his presence. The witch continued, obviously not requiring any response on John’s part. “He always did like a bit of a challenge, didn’t he?” she said, tapping one scarlet fingertip to her chin. “And that curse is a doozy, isn’t it?” At that, John shook himself free of his worry over Sherlock. “Could you remove it?” he asked, surprised he could even get the words out, it was the closest he’d been able to get to talking about the curse.

Adler pursed her red lips and shook her head. She ran her sharp fingernails along John’s jawline. “I’m afraid my talent lies in other areas. Besides, the wizard who put that one on you would have me for shoes if I interfered.” She turned without another word and stalked toward the Tower Gates without another word to John. 

John heaved a sigh. It had been worth a try, he told himself and followed after the witch. Her high heels and narrow skirt meant he was able to catch up to her fairly quickly and they reached the gate at the same time. As they stepped through John felt a cool prickling sensation, not unlike static electricity, pass over him. He looked down to see that his magical tailoring had been undone and he was back to looking as dowdy as ever. He must have made some sort of confused noise, because the guard stationed at the gate explained “Magic isn’t allowed inside the gates.” he said, “That goes for you too, Witch Adler. My apologies, but you know the rules.” The guard’s voice sounded strained and John looked around to see why. He was greeted with the now nude figure of Irene Adler. His eyes immediately riveted themselves on her face, but she seemed almost unconcerned by the turn of events. “No need for apologies, though that glamour did take me ages to perfect. I’ll just have to content myself with my battle dress.” With that she turned and swanned off as if she were on some catwalk adorned in a couture gown and not just her designer shoes. 

“Great,” John grumbled as he entered the building behind her and was ushered toward a long staircase. “Now I have to follow after her and somehow not get distracted.” He took a few steps up, only to find the black cat was still following him and was now winding around his ankles, making it difficult to climb the stairs without following. He huffed in annoyance and leaned down, scooping it up. The cat that was Sherlock quickly climbed onto his shoulder and draped itself across both shoulders like a living scarf. “Why didn’t the magic barrier work on you?” John asked under his breath, but he received only a purr in response. Holding the railing with one hand, his cane in the other and his concentration on the worn stone steps, John was mostly successful in his attempts to refrain from glancing at the nude woman making her way up the stairs in front of him. This was made difficult by her running commentary about the state of the fortress and her blatant flirting with any guard they passed. Luckily, she still seemed to require no participation from John and he continued to concentrate on his own ascent. When they reached the top of the stairs they were both announced and shown into a sitting room. Almost immediately, a blushing young woman came to retrieve Witch Adler. John thought he heard Witch Adler ask “Well now, your majesty, have you been wicked?” as the door closed behind them. 

John settled himself onto a plush loveseat and deposited the Sherlock cat beside him. He looked around the room and giggled nervously. “What am I doing here?” he wondered out loud. “I’m seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray.” he admitted to Sherlock, sure that would elicit some sort of amused response. All he got from the cat was a bored yawn. After a few moments, another attractive young woman opened a door and told John in polished tones that Master Mycroft would see him now. John levered himself up off the sofa and Sherlock leapt off his cushion and disappeared through the door in a streak of black fur. “Er, sorry about him.” he apologized to the young woman, who merely replied with an unconcerned “Not at all.” 

He followed her down a corridor toward a large wooden door. As they neared it John’s stomach erupted into a swarm of butterflies. He was about to meet the most powerful wizard in the country. And then he was supposed to lie to him. How did he let Sherlock talk him into something so ridiculous? Was he really that much of an easy mark that he’d do anything the beautiful wizard asked of him? Wait a minute, did he just call Sherlock beautiful? But there was no time for exploring that thought process because he had reached the door and was walking through it and toward a large figure seated before a roaring fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone pointed out that it couldn't be Moriarty John meets on his way to see Mycroft and I totally agreed. Luckily we've got two wicked(ish) characters to work with. Plus, I got to put Irene in her battle dress! :)


	11. An archenemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “An enemy. Well, he would probably say archenemy, but you know dramatic he can be.”
> 
> “Oh, because you’re above all of that. And thank god, for it.” John gestured to indicate the intimidating room and the person still cloaked in shadow in the chair.

The room John entered was dark, lit only by the fire inside the massive, ornate fireplace. A, armchair was placed at an angle before the blaze and John could feel, though he couldn’t see, an intense gaze leveled at him. But he refused to let his steps falter even when he heard the heavy wooden door close behind with an ominous thud. 

When he drew up in front of cushioned chair, an aristocratic voice issued from within the shadows. “Dr. John Watson. Or should I call you Captain?” John’s vertebrae cracked as he unconsciously stood at attention before he could remind himself that he was pretending to be a lowly assistant to Wizard Holmes. He adjusted his posture quickly but wasn’t sure it had escaped the notice of the mysterious figure in the chair. He could fairly feel the smirk through the shadows. John was just opening his mouth to issue his denial of these titles when a dark shape slunk into his peripheral vision. 

The black cat who had accompanied him to the Tower sauntered up to the armchair and John almost called out but his warning caught in his throat when the creature jumped lithely onto on of the chairs armrests. It curled its tail around its body as it settled there, looking so content and at home that John instantly realize this could not be Sherlock. He shot the cat a reproachful glare which it returned with a slow, ambivalent blink. An arm extended out of the shadows to pass a lazy hand over the cat’s fur. It closed its eyes and settled even further into the soft armrest, rocking back and forth a bit to find a comfortable position. 

“Good morning, I see you’re choosing to go as a cat today. Good choice.” The voice said, obviously addressing the cat, who seemed to give a slight nod in response. I see you’ve met Anthea.” the voice continued, this time addressing John, as though introducing someone to a cat was a normal occurrence. “Ah, yes. I believe we have. You could’ve just had a normal person escort me, you know.”

The hand petting Anthea gave a dismissive wave to brush away the criticism. “I see Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to answer his own summons so he sent his new...what are you supposed to be, Dr. Watson?” the voice asked condescendingly.

“Er, I’m his new assistant and all around cleaning service, really. He sends his apologies for not coming himself, but he really is busy at the moment. Got several spells he’s in the middle of at the moment.” John lied while trying to look as truthful as possible. He got the distinct impression his host was rolling his eyes somewhere in the depth of the shadows. 

“I don’t need to hear his excuses, I assure you I’ve heard them all before. I sent the summons in order to meet you, John. I knew Sherlock would send you in his stead.” At John’s confused look, he continued. “You stumble into his Castle one evening while out on the Wastes and now you’re living together? Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?” 

“Wh-what?” John spluttered, the conversation taking a turn he had not anticipated. “And I see you have a curse on you, that you’re not allowed to mention. Mrs. Hudson will have said she’ll help you out with yours if you help with hers. I suggest you ignore her.” The voice spoke peremptorily. 

“Excuse me?” John asked coldly. “How could you possibly know about that? And just how is it any of your business. I don’t even know who you are. You certainly aren’t a friend of Sher- I mean Wizard Holmes.” 

“You’ve spent time with Sherlock, do you imagine he has many friends?” This seemed to be a rhetorical question so John didn’t bother to answer. “No, I’m the closest thing he has to a friend.”

Cocking his head slightly to one side with undeniable curiosity, John asked “And what would that be?”

“An enemy. Well, he would probably say archenemy, but you know dramatic he can be.”

“Oh, because you’re above all of that. And thank god, for it.” John gestured to indicate the intimidating room and the person still cloaked in shadow in the chair. Anthea twitched her tail in catlike acknowledgement of the hit. A less than amused chortle could be heard from the person in the chair. “Nevertheless, I would like you to keep an eye on Sherlock’s actions and report them back to me. I can make it worth your while.”

John was gobsmacked, of all the possible scenarios he’d been entertaining in his mind this one had never occurred to him. Fortunately, the surprise of the request didn’t give him pause. 

“No.” he said immediately. “Not interested.” 

“Really,” drawled the voice, apparently unconvinced. “I’m prepared to offer you a significant amount of money for very little work.” 

“Still not interested.” John repeated.

“So loyal so quickly, is that from your time in the army or was I correct earlier about that happy announcement?” 

“No.” John refused to let his face betray any emotion. “Just not interested. Why do you need me, anyway? You’re a wizard, and a powerful one from the look of it. Why would an old man like be of any use. And why do you care what Sherlock gets up to?”

“I worry about him.” the figure said “Constantly.” with this word, he finally leaned forward into the light and John saw that he was much leaner than he’d originally assumed. His pale face had a long face and long pointed nose angled below a high forehead. The firelight glinted off cold eyes. “You see, when you’re with Sherlock Holmes you see the world not as other people see it. You see the battlegrounds and wars fought under everyone’s noses. He puts everyone around him, including himself, in danger and he doesn’t care when he does it. He needs to be watched after, for his own good.”

John felt his hackles rise and he stood even straighter without realizing it. When he did so the curse that made him appear so old sloughed off like an old skin. He wasn’t aware of the change as he rose to Sherlock’s defense. “Sherlock doesn’t need a babysitter and I certainly wouldn’t be the person for the job if he did. And you know what? I’m sure he has better things to do than answer to some vague summons for petty spells for members of the aristocracy. So if that’s all, I’ll just see myself out.” he executed an about turn and exited the room in high dudgeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I apologize again for the long gaps in between chapters! There's a crazy thing called Life and I was a bit stalled at what Sherlock and John would do in this scene. Sherlock isn't going to swoop in disguised as the Queen (though how great would that be?) and no way would John leave him in danger and head back to the Castle alone. Things might be deviating even more in the future...
> 
> Gah, that was a long apology!


	12. Thoughts, a Walk, and a Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pity, we could’ve split the money.” A small smiled lingered around his lips. John felt his own lips quirk in response, even while he worried why Sherlock seemed to expect his betrayal.

John stood in the hallway breathing heavily. He could feel the adrenalin coursing through his body, but when he held out a hand he saw that the tremor he’d suffered from ever since he’d been cursed was completely absent. Still, he swore a bit under his breath, annoyed that he’d let that prat of a wizard get under his skin. Before he had time to calm himself completely he was already attempting to recall the path he’d taken to get to this room. He seemed to be alone in the carpeted corridor and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask anyone in the Tower for assistance anyway. Fortunately, instinct took over and he was able to navigate his way out of the building on auto-pilot. The plush carpeting absorbing the clipped cadence of his walk. He barely noticed the servants hovering at corners and in alcoves. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to see that they were carefully avoiding the Captain as though following strict orders.

John’s mind raced as he made his way through the halls of the fortress. He liked to think he wasn’t much for self-reflection but something Wizard Mycroft had said, well most of the things he’d said really, and his own reactions required further thought. He had reacted without conscious thought, protecting Sherlock and turning down the Wizard’s offers, but why? It was true, he had wandered in off the Wastes and basically moved in; which, now that he thought about it, was pretty out of character for him. John never pushed himself in where he wasn’t invited, but he supposed he could write that off to the necessity of the curse and Mys. Hudson’s offer to help. His apparently unswerving loyalty to Sherlock was a surprise however. Oh, John was a good friend and loyal to Queen and Country, to be true. But he didn’t make friends all that quickly and it had been a long time since he’d had to prove his loyalty as a soldier. So what was it about the acerbic and high maintenance that drew out this loyalty and fierce protectiveness? The hand holding his cane spasmed at the memory of Wizard Mycroft’s insinuations about their relationship.

John wasn’t foolish enough to deny that he was physically attracted to the man. Perhaps the impossibility of anything happening between them helped him admit it, but really he couldn’t see how anyone could not be attracted to the Wizard Holmes. Molly certainly was, even though her crush was clearly painful to her. But Sherlock would never think of Old John that way, so John felt a measure of safety in acknowledging his own feelings there. But it wasn’t just that, in fact he couldn’t quite describe what it was just yet, he only knew that things felt right when he was with Sherlock. The Castle felt more like a home, after only a few days, then his small flat had after years of living there. When he was around Sherlock he felt like he was waking up from some long sleep, like he was coming alive again when he didn’t even know he’d been dead. Even when Sherlock was being difficult or overly dramatic or sulking, he found that just his presence was invigorating. Even if the Witch Adler was right and he was just a temporary amusement. Even...even when the stupid prat was waiting nonchalantly at the bottom of the main staircase of the Tower of London, just as if he hadn’t wanted to avoid the place just that very morning. 

John paused for a second in shock at seeing the very person he’d been thinking about, as if he’d conjured him with the power of those thoughts. The pause was brief however, he recovered from his surprise quickly and continued down the last few steps and right past the smug wizard and out the door, exchanging a polite nod with a passing dignitary as if he do so everyday. He felt more than heard Sherlock scramble to catch up with him. But when the dramatic cape that fluttered with Sherlock’s every step appeared in John’s peripheral vision, the wizard’s customary mask of indifference had settled back into place and his long legs slowed to stroll casually beside John.

“Did you have a good time?” Sherlock asked.

“Good time? Well it was interesting and it turned out your friend only wanted to meet me, so you didn’t have to come at all.” John replied as they exited the Tower walls and walked down along the river.

“Friend?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Enemy, I think he said, or arch-enemy?”  
Sherlock’s eyebrows fell back to their normal position from where they’d risen above the fringe of his hair. “Oh. Him. Of course.” There was a pause before he said “Did he offer you money to spy on me?”  
John turned his head just in time to see the vulnerable flash across Sherlock’s face.  
“He did.”  
“And?” the vulnerability was completely gone now, leaving his face void of any discernable emotion.  
“And. I told him ‘no’, of course.” John answered honestly Sherlock let out a barely audible gust of breath. When John turned his head this time he could see relief mixed with satisfaction on his face as he said. “Pity, we could’ve split the money.” A small smiled lingered around his lips. John felt his own lips quirk in response, even while he worried why Sherlock seemed to expect his betrayal.

They walked on in silence for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts until the back of John’s neck began to tingle in the way that was happening all too often these days. He looked over his shoulder surreptitiously and easily spotted Anthea the cat trotting along a few steps behind them. As Sherlock didn’t seem alarmed by their feline surveillance, John dismissed her presence. Still, the feeling didn’t dissipate and another glance over his shoulder revealed several not very well disguised goons dogging their step.

“Uh, Sherlock. I don’t want to alarm you but it appears we’ve got a tail.” John said as casually as he could. 

“I know. We’re baiting them John. Why else would we be walking and not in a cab?” Sherlock replied as if this were an obvious answer. They walked several more blocks. Sherlock acted as if nothing extraordinary was happening. He chattered blithely at John about the people they passed and what kinds of spells they’d bought to conceal various faults and misdeeds. Ordinarily, John would have been fascinated by this, now he tried his hardest to act normally, murmuring ‘brilliant’ and ‘amazing’ every few minutes just in case. He was thankful for his limp and the fact that their new friends were behind him and couldn’t see just how uncomfortable his expression had become. 

Unfortunately, after a few more blocks John made the mistake of looking over his shoulder and locking eyes with the largest of the goons. This had the same effect as waving a red cape in front of an angry bull. Sherlock seemed to it sense the change. “Come on.” he said urgently, a manic gleam in his eye, right before he took off running. 

He cut across the street, barely avoiding an oncoming hover-cab that reared up into the air to avoid colliding with the speeding figure. John gulped at the near miss and waved an apology to the cab that had stalled out seven feet in the air because of the sudden jump in altitude. John then did the only thing he could do, with Sherlock growing ever smaller in the distance and the heavy slap of feet coming up behind him, he took off after the flapping cloak. It took him a minute or so to catch up with Sherlock and his bloody long legs. When he did, he swore the man was laughing while he ran! Sherlock grabbed his sleeve and turned him down an alley John hadn’t noticed. 

A hover-bike sat idling near a one wall, bobbing up and down, tethered to a ring on the wall. Sherlock released the tether with a wave of his hand and caught the rising bike, pulling it down to the ground. He hurried John onto it, and slid onto the seat behind him.

“Do you know how to drive one of these?” he huffed in John’s ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few good pieces of news! First, I wrote several chapters this weekend, so they'll be going up soon.
> 
> And second, I think I'm going to use Camp NaNo in April to focus on finishing the story by the end of the month. So thanks for hanging in there, this story will not be abandoned. Sherlock and John fit too perfectly in Howl and Sophie's shoes for me to just hang it up now!


	13. A Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, I think you’re a natural at this.”

“Do you know how to drive one of these?” Sherlock huffed very close to his ear.

John blinked down at the confusing array of buttons and dials on the small dashboard between his thighs. His mind raced through all of the information he’d ever overheard about hover-bikes. It wasn’t a required skill for doctors, and while he was in the army he’d been too busy patching up his fellow soldiers to pick it up. 

“Well, I’m familiar with the theory.” he said, praying he wouldn’t get airsick in front of Sherlock.

“It’s simple.” Sherlock was saying into his ear again, pulling him from his thoughts and back to the present. “Turn the right handle to accelerate, just like you would with an older motor bike and the green button here--” one long arm snaked under John’s and around his torso to point at a glowing button on the dashboard.between his legs. “provides the lift.” with that he pressed the button and instantly they rose to hover about three feet above the ground.

“Now, hurry, they’re almost here.” Sherlock said and John pulled back on the right handle rocketing them out of the alley with a loud roar. 

They came to a screeching halt almost immediately when they collided with something. John’s heart stuttered to a halt, terrified they’d injured an innocent bystander, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it had only been one of the men who’d been chasing them. One of the fallen man’s companions lunged for the bike but Sherlock kicked out a long leg and connected with his face, sending him reeling and bloody back to the pavement. The third man, kneeling beside his unconscious friend sent up a cry in some language John did not understand and suddenly the sound of their bike’s motor was joined by that of several others. Three more hover-bikes came swerving around a corner heading straight toward them. 

“Anytime you’re ready, John.” Sherlock shouted, jarring John into action. He accelerated and they began to put distance between themselves and their pursuers. He followed Sherlock’s directions, getting himself thoroughly turned around in the process, but they failed in losing their entourage. 

“Blast.” Sherlock muttered in irritation. “We’re going to have to split up. We can’t let them find the Castle. I’ll lead them away and try to lose them. You head home.” John shook his head in equal parts confusion and disagreement.  
“What? First of all, I’m not going to leave you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re in mid-flight right now. I somehow doubt you could lose them on foot! And how exactly would I get home? I don’t even know where I am right now, let alone how to get to your bloody moving Castle?” he shouted back.

“I can handle them in my own way, don’t worry about that. As for getting home, the ring I gave you will lead you there. All you have to do is summon Mrs. Hudson with your heart.” Sherlock’s arm once again reached around John to gently pry his hand from its death grip on the handlebar. the signet ring Sherlock had placed on his finger that morning glinted in the sunlight, sending out tiny rays where it caught the light. Then, as John thought of Mrs. Hudson’s warm glow, one of the little rays lengthened into a beam that pointed off into the distance towards the west. 

“There? You see? Just follow that beam of light and it will lead you home. You should get there before dark.” Sherlock’s voice was warm and intimate in his ear this time. John hadn’t realized quite how close they were sitting, absorbed as he had been with not crashing the hover-bike into buildings and trees, but Sherlock appeared to be plastered to his back. Now he felt a quick tightening of arms and thighs, as if Sherlock were giving him a hug from behind. The unexpected embrace made John jerk in surprise and the bike followed suit. Sherlock chuckled in amusement.

“You know, I think you’re a natural at this.” he said just as they heard the roar of new engines, reinforcements for their pursuers. “Now, I can give you about five minutes of invisibility, so get away quickly. And be safe, I’ll see you back at the Castle as soon as I can.” there was another full body hug that made John skin flush and in the next instant he was gone. Glancing over his shoulder, John saw Sherlock, sitting on an identical hover-bike behind another version of John make a careening turn followed by all of Moriarty’s minions. 

Head still turned to watch them, John’s attention was caught by the building he was passing. The large glass windows were sparklingly clean, reflecting the rest of street, but John’s reflection was missing. Sherlock had not exaggerated about the invisibility. The ring on his finger seemed to thrum, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. Literally. His thoughts turned toward Mrs. Hudson, warm and home in her hearth and the beam of light once again erupted from his ring. He oriented the bike in the correct direction. 

The sun was at his back and he hoped Sherlock was correct in his assertion that he’d get home before before nightfall, because he didn’t fancy riding a hover-bike in the dark and rain clouds were gathering on the horizon. John’s thoughts kept wandering to what Sherlock was doing and if he was okay, but each time he did the light from his ring wavered and skittered around. It was only when he focused o Mrs. Hudson and home that the beam also focused. So he reluctantly put Sherlock out of his mind for the time being and concentrated on getting home first.

The sun had just slipped below the horizon, its last rays barely visible and of no help to John who was wiping rain drops out of his eyes while trying to stay oriented in the right direction. He’d decided to the bike higher above the city once the invisibility wore off and was now soaring high above the mist and desolate moors of the Waste. He’d passed over the twinkling lights of his hometown several minutes before and hoped this meant he was nearing the Castle. He tried bringing the bike lower, guessing that the pulsing red button would do the opposite of the green button. It did lower the bike, but it also seemed to increase his speed. John was just beginning to worry about that when the clouds before him parted and he saw it. The Castle seemed to be coming to meet him!

He grinned through the rain, anticipating a nice warm cuppa and a thaw before Mrs. Hudson. The Castle broke into a gallop as if picking up on his thoughts. John’s smile fell. At his current speed and inability to slow, and with the Castle barreling toward him, they were sure to collide. He tried shouting a warning, but he knew it was useless.

“Mrs. Hudson! Molly! Slow down, I don’t know how to park this bloody thing!” 

The Castle and hover-bike drew closer together and John squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still writing consistently these days, which means I'm a few chapters ahead and I think I'll make Saturday night/Sundays a regular posting day, just for regularity's sake. Hope that sounds good to y'all!


	14. An Abrupt Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a creaking groan and a terrific crash and when he dared to crack his eyes open there were great plumes of dust and smoke all around him, along with piles of rubble.

There was a creaking groan and a terrific crash and when he dared to crack his eyes open there were great plumes of dust and smoke all around him, along with piles of rubble. If the sitting room of the Castle had been a tip when he’d first arrived it was downright neat compared to the wreck it was now. But John could hear the voices of Molly and Mrs. Hudson and they both sounded concerned but not injured, so he congratulated himself on not completely bollocksing up the job. 

“John? John? Are you all right?” Molly’s voice filtered through the dust and debris that had settled on him and John started to dig his way out so he could answer her properly. She helped push away a wooden beam that had just missed crushing his leg and gave him a hand to his feet. He coughed the dust from his lung and before he could catch his breath Molly was hugging him fiercely. 

“I’m home.” John managed to cough out as Molly checked him over for injuries. “I’m fine Molly, honestly. Though I can’t say the same for the Castle.” he looked around at the destruction, relieved to find it was confined to the sitting room and he had somehow managed to miss the fireplace entirely. “Sorry about the mess, Mrs. H. I‘ll try and sort it out tomorrow, for now could I trouble you for a cup of tea? It’s been a long day.” he pushed some rubble out of her hearth and offered her the leg of a chair that was now only fit for kindling. 

Mrs. Hudson was assuring John it was no trouble when Molly cocked her head to one side, an intent look on her face. 

“Did you hear that?” she said, both John and the fire demon listened carefully and there did seem to be a noise coming from the place John had been buried previously. He and Molly dug around dug through the rubble to find the remains of the hover-bike and soon a dusty face with two bright eyes blinked up at them. “Mraow” it croaked at them indignantly.

“Oh, a stowaway.” John said, not pleased he’d managed to let a spy into the Castle. The cat purred and twined around his ankles. “Don’t try being cute, I know who you are, you’re lucky I don’t chuck you out that hole.” he said indicating his recently created entryway.

“Oh she’s so pretty!” cooed Molly, immediately picking her up and dusting her off. The cat looked pleased and smug and shot John a glance that dared him to kick her out. Accepting defeat he turned back to the fire and the steaming kettle of water waiting for him. Mrs. Hudson fussed over him while he prepared the tea. 

“We’re just glad you’re back safe and sound. But where is Sherlock? I got his message to meet you, but he didn’t say what had happened.” 

John poured tea out for himself and Molly and they both drank several cups while he filled them in on all that had passed that day. Leaving out all the feelings he was having trouble understanding. Both the young woman and the fire demon looked worried long before he reached the end of his story but none of them could think of anything they could do to help. They decided they would wait for Sherlock to return before they made any decisions. As it grew later and there was no sign of Sherlock they said their good nights to one another. Molly retreated to her room upstairs followed by Anthea who seemed to have taken quite a liking to her and John retrieved the lilo and bedding he’d discovered in a closet during his cleaning marathon. He cleared a spot among the mess and made up his bed. It reminded him a bit of bunking down in remote locations when he’d been on active duty in the army. He only hoped the resemblance didn’t trigger a recurrence of the terrible nightmares that had plagued him for so long after he’d returned home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit short, luckily I'm still several chapters ahead writing-wise so there will be regular Sunday updates for the foreseeable future! And next week's will be posted from Atlanta during 221B Con! *happy dance*


	15. A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson’s warm light flickered off the footprints that were still slick and new. They led up the stairs.

John was sleeping calmly and Mrs. Hudson was banked low over coals when the dial at the door clicked and hinges squeaked slightly. Not long after, Sherlock plodded slowly up the stairs, hissing every now and then with pain. It was those noises of pain that roused Mrs. hudson. 

“Oh, Sherlock!” she fretted when she saw his hunched form, almost transparent but covered in raven black feathers from head to taloned feet. “What have you done?” Sherlock said nothing but he paused by John’s sleeping form as he made his way to his room, leaving a trail of dark, bloody footprints in his wake. 

John woke suddenly, sitting straight up on the lilo, the smell of blood heavy in his nostrils. At first he was afraid his fears had been confirmed and his nightmares had indeed returned to haunt him. But when he took another deep breath to clear his memory he realized he was smelling actual blood and not merely the memory of the stuff. Mrs. Hudson’s warm light flickered off the footprints that were still slick and new. They led up the stairs. Since Mrs.Hudson hadn’t raised any alarm, he could only assume it was Sherlock in some kind of disguise and in obvious need of medical attention. He got up and grabbed the candle burning on the mantlepiece and followed the footprints (one more thing he’d have to clean in the morning) upstairs to Sherlock’s room. When he got to it, the door was shut fast. John hesitated a moment, but his concern outweighed any embarrassment he was feeling, and he knocked. 

“Sherlock?” Are you okay?” he listened for a moment but received no response, though he thought he could detect a faint rustling noise. He tried the doorknob and it turned easily in his hand. 

“Sher-” When he ducked through the door, Sherlock’s name died on his lips. Instead of the neat bedroom he’d been in the morning before, he was standing at the mouth of a long, dark tunnel. The walls seemed to be made of earth with various pieces of scientific and magical equipment embedded within it, but John noted all of this absently because the smell of blood and the earlier rustling sound were both stronger here and seemed to be coming from deeper inside the dark circle of the tunnel. His candle didn’t cast much light so he inched forward slowly, careful of the uneven ground. 

As he walked forward, the light from his candle suddenly reflected back a wall of black. But rather than pure blackness, this mass had texture and as John drew closer he could see t was a wall of feathers gleaming blue-black in the candlelight. The figure belonging to the feathers heaved shuddering breaths. The scent of blood was now overpowering. Though hw wasn’t sure what it was he was looking at, John felt Sherlock was in there somewhere. 

“Sherlock?” he reached out his free hand tentatively, not sure if it would hurt to brush at the feathers. Before he could make contact though, the figure drew back out of reach. 

“Go away.” a dark voice growled from within the feathers and distorted as it was, John could still detect Sherlock’s voice within it. 

“No, I’m not going to go away. I’m going to help you get better and then I’m going to help you break the spell you’re under.” John moved forward again. “What happened to you?” he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He’d thought of Sherlock as impervious to anything the world threw at him, but he didn’t recognize this injured creature he’d become. He didn’t know if he was equipped to do any good here, but still it was Sherlock so he was determined to try. 

The creature that was somehow also Sherlock turned slightly and John could just make out a version of Sherlock’s pale face horribly twisted and distorted. His mouth full of large, jagged teeth. It breathed raggedly for a few beats then summoned the strength and condescension to say, “You? You can’t even break your own spell.” It drew up so it was towering over John. A wind started to pick howling up from the depths of the tunnel. It whipped loose feathers into John’s face and he was forced to squint to make out Sherlock’s form in the flickering light. 

“But you don’t understand!” he cried, suddenly desperate to explain himself to Sherlock, “I’m your friend!”  
Even in this form, Sherlock excelled at scoffing, “Friend?” he snorted in that raspy, pained voice. “I don’t have friends.” the last word was hissed rather than spoken. Two huge wings began to unfurl. “You’re too late.” the voice continued dully just as John shouted “But I love you!” 

The words were all but lost in the furious flurry of wings and wind and whirling feathers and the echo of Sherlock’s words “Too late.”. Then he was gone and John was alone in the tunnel. The last gust of wind finally extinguished the candle and all was dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised to send this from 221BCon but time got away from me this weekend and then I had a 13 hour drive home, so here you go!


	16. Another Cleaning Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mrs. Hudson, is Sherlock back?” he asked groggily, sitting up to balance his elbows on his knees.

The sound of water gushing through pipe woke John. He rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to orient himself. 

“Mrs. Hudson, is Sherlock back?” he asked groggily, sitting up to balance his elbows on his knees.

“Yes and he looks just dreadful. You’d better get to work on breaking the spell on us, I don’t think he has much time. I hope you realize how dire this situation is.” the fire demon said urgently, wringing small tongues of flame in place of hands.

“You mean...he’ll turn into some sort of monster? Is that it?” John guessed, drawing on the memory of his dream of moments before. Mrs. Hudson turned scarlet with indignation.

“I can’t tell you the details of the curse, John. I’m sure you understand that by now.” she said as coldly as she was able.

John stalked toward the fireplace and bent forward. “I read about a case like this back when I was in medical school. Has Sherlock’s heart been stolen by a demon? It would explain all the symptoms that I’ve...er, observed.” he slid his eyes to the side, not sure if he could even count his own observations, as subjective as they were. Instead, he tried a charm offensive “Tell me, Mrs. Hudson, what do you know about it?” he smiled his most disarming smile down at her.

It didn’t work. She stayed buttoned up on the subject. “I’m sorry but that is confidential information.” John turned away dejectedly, muttering darkly under his breath “Well what if I dumped a bucket of cold water over you?” Mrs. Hudson sputtered behind him. “I’ll have you know that if I die, Sherlock dies too!” John harrumphed and settled back into his bedroll for what felt like the third time that night.

The dream still clung to the edges of his mind cluttering his consciousness. He told himself it was a dream, but he was less and less convinced now. The footprints, the tunnel, the feathers. The mouth, full of dangerous teeth, that let loose the metal scraping against metal voice that still managed to sound like Sherlock. All of it had to be a dream, but he recognized many of the symptoms of heart theft. In normal people, the loss of a heart meant certain death. But in wizards, especially powerful ones like Sherlock, the heart could remain outside the body for years- giving life to the demon that possessed it. As time passed, the demon took on more human-like qualities while the wizard fell prey to more and more demonic tendencies. Shapeshifting was a common side effect, seen as a benefit by the most ambitious. But it came with a cost. For the wizard who spent much of his or her time in another form it became more difficult to return to their human form until eventually they ceased to be human at all. Their former lives forgotten, they were a threat to everyone and were hunted and killed. John had been part of several expeditions to eliminate such creatures while he was in the army and he shuddered at the thought of Sherlock being sentenced to such a fate. Not just the execution, but the loss of reason. Sherlock would hate that. 

John buried his head in his pillow in denial. He was just jumping to conclusions. The dramatic events of the night before and his worry over Sherlock had merely culminated in a particularly vivid dream. Now that he was awake he could assure himself of that. He needed to assure himself of that. Sherlock was home and well enough to shower at least, judging from the sound of the water still rushing in the pipes overhead. And if it had been a dream then that meant John hadn’t actually blurted out his feelings for the wizard. The dream state must have helped his mind identify the feelings he’d been trying to describe earlier, it actually seemed pretty obvious now, but that didn’t mean he was eager for Sherlock to know just yet. If ever. Most likely never. John rolled onto his back and told himself firmly that it had all been a dream and the he was relieved. then he began making a mental list of all the things he needed to do in the morning as he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning dawned bright clear, though it held the threat of turning hot. John decided it was best to start early and was looking forward to a busy day that would hopefully stop his thoughts from turning to Sherlock too often. During breakfast he outlined his plans with Molly and Mrs. Hudson and they were ready to get to work as soon as the breakfast dishes were washed. 

Mrs. Hudson parked the Castle in a pleasantly deserted area of The Wastes and they got to work. Molly started hauling some of the smaller debris, piling it into a wheelbarrow which she conjured up herself. The wheelbarrow was on the small side, but it definitely helped, and she was so proud of it. While she was working at that, John set to rigging up rope pulleys and levers for removal of the heavier pieces. When he got several ready he threw the lead ropes outside and followed them. He found Molly ready to lend a hand as expected, but he was surprised to also find Dolly hopping around, looking as eager to help as turnip-headed scared could. 

“Dolly! How good to see you again! It seems like you’re always around just when I need you.” he grinned up at her. They wrapped a rope around the pole where it made up her waist. They lined up behind her and began to heave and pull. Mrs. Hudson did something from inside that made it appear as if the Castle were opening its mouth to have teeth extracted and slowly the rubble and the hover-bike landed on the grass around them. They succeeded in removing most of the debris from the sitting room by lunchtime when the heat became too distracting. They carried a table outside and lunched there, enjoying the occasional breeze and gazing back at the Castle. It had never been particularly pretty from the outside, where it reminded John of a rusty collection of spare parts put together by a distracted child, but now it was marred by a giant gaping hole in its side. John thought about how to cover the hole as they carried their lunch things back indoors. It had been fine last night, but he didn’t want to get in the habit of sleeping with a hole in their wall as they traipsed around the Wastes. Still, it was nice that the hole was big enough for Dolly to poke her head inside as they washed dishes, she couldn’t get in through the door and he’d always felt awful for leaving her outside after all her help. They were surveying their work and considering it a job well done when they heard a pair of feet hurrying down the stairs. Sherlock burst into the room, his first appearance of the day, looking hale and hearty. In fact, he looked downright chipper until his feet, in expensive looking leather shoes, hit the floor of the sitting room. John was avoiding looking at him, suddenly overwhelmed by memories of the night before and his dream, so he missed Sherlock’s expression at first. 

When a moment passed with no word or movement from the wizard, John screwed up his courage (he’d been a soldier, dammit!) and looked up at him, only to find Sherlock staring at John’s chest with a strange look on his face. John glanced down, remembering suddenly that he’d shed his uncomfortably hot jumper and shirt earlier in the day leaving him clad in his trousers and a vest that was now grimy from all the work he’d been doing. He suddenly felt self conscious, standing there in front of Sherlock like this. Sherlock was dressed impeccably in a white shirt and inky black trousers that were tailored lovingly to his lean frame, while John looked like he’d just spent the day mucking out stables, a thin layer of dirt and dust stuck to his still sweaty skin and he was sure his hair was a mess too. But before he could move to retrieve his sweater and cover himself, Sherlock blinked and looked around at their surroundings. John felt the weight of that scrutinizing stare leave his skin and started to breath a sigh of relief when he realized a part of himself missed being the center of Sherlock’s attention. He grabbed the broom from its cupboard and made a feeble attempt at sweeping while Sherlock was distracted. His hands were propped on his hips and turned slowly to survey the entire room, clean now of the biggest of the mess but still not set to rights. 

“What happened here?” he asked curiously, when John was sure he could tell exactly what had happened.

“Well if you’d bothered to get out of bed before lunchtime, you wouldn’t need to ask. But if you must know, John crashed into the Castle last night and we’re in middle of clearing up the mess.” Mrs. Hudson scolded with a flicker, replying before John could find his voice. He wondered miserably if Sherlock was going to be very angry at the destruction of his Castle. It hadn’t occurred to him before now to be afraid of his reaction. He was cursing himself for this obvious stupidity when Sherlock burst out laughing. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Sherlock as he double over in mirth. John didn’t think he’d ever heard laugh before, beyond the time yesterday when they were running for their lives. Judging from their expressions, it was clear that it was a novel occurrence for Molly and Mrs. Hudson too. Both of them seemed frozen in place, John didn’t even think the fire demon flickered for a for a few seconds while the laughter continued.

“I knew he would be an excellent driver!” Sherlock exclaimed once his laughter died down. He flashed a brilliant smile at John who was stunned enough to automatically return it before becoming flustered and looking away. He immediately began to berate himself for the action. He was acting like Molly, all first crushes and sighs, not the army doctor who had had his share of romantic experiences. He forced himself to look back at Sherlock, only to find the wizard’s attention had moved on to the one member of the household who had not been alarmed at Sherlock’s laughter.

Anthea the cat lay curled on the one cushion that seemed to have escaped the destruction. She watched Sherlock impassively as he approached. He looked her over just as impassively before he said. “ Ah, a spy from the Tower. Anthea, isn’t it?” his voice was still warm with the laughter of a few moments ago. 

“Er, that would be my fault as well, I’m afraid. She must’ve jumped into one of the saddlebags on the hover-bike when I wasn’t looking.” John explained, glaring at the cat. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John. “Hmm, well I suppose that’s not entirely your fault. You did have other things on your mind at the time.” he said generously. He kept his gaze on John’s for a few more seconds and John forced himself to meet it, even when he felt his cheeks warm in response. John refused to let himself wonder if that statement held any innuendo, going down that mental path would be a bit not good at the moment. Something flashed in Sherlock’s eyes and John wasn’t sure he’d succeeded in keeping his thoughts to himself but the wizard just whirled towards his apprentice.

“Molly, we’re going to test some of your new powers.” he said, clapping his hands together in apparent excitement. 

“Wh-what? Why?” Molly stuttered, uncomfortable with being put on the spot.

“We’re moving!” Sherlock exclaimed.


	17. Moving Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, Moriarty’s close again, don’t want him to track us down so easily. Plus, it will annoy Mycroft which is always a plus.”

“Moving?” John asked, bewilderment obvious in his voice just as Molly piped up, “Excellent! I’ve just been reading up on those spells!”

“Yes, Moriarty’s close again, don’t want him to track us down so easily. Plus, it will annoy Mycroft which is always a plus.” Sherlock smiled mischievously, but John couldn’t help but wonder at his sudden mood change. “Oh, is this a new addition to our family?” Sherlock ambled over to the hole in the wall where Dolly’s head was peeping through. The wizard leaned over so he was level with the scarecrow. “Ooh, that’s a nasty looking curse you’ve got there. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave. Your spell will only mess up ours.” Dolly seemed to bob her head in a nod and hopped away, out of sight.

After this, all John could do was try to stay out of their way. Sherlock flew around the Castle muttering things to Molly who was never very far behind. She sometimes asked questions but mostly she nodded as though taking mental notes on all of his instructions. They collected all sorts of odd instruments and then discarded them again. Sherlock finally seemed to settle on a simple spell. He used white paint to mark out an intricate design on the ground outside while Molly cleared the area and made sure it was free of stones and other detritus.

Sherlock waved his arms and shouted from his spot outside the Castle, “Okay Mrs. Hudson, right this way, if you please!”

With a metallic groan, the Castle trundled over a few steps, so that it was standing right over the marking and settled down with all of the creaks and groans that entailed. Sherlock and Molly came back in and the Wizard pulled a simple piece of chalk from his pocket. He drew another set of symbols on the wooden floor. When he was finished he indicated that John and Molly should get out of his way. John was surprised at his remarkably polite way of doing this, when he’d expected something far more rude. 

Since there were not many places they could go to be out of the way, John and Molly perched on top of the sturdy wooden table. Anthea joined them and curled around Molly’s shoulders. 

Once they were situated, Sherlock grabbed the small shovel from the fireplace set and reached into the hearth. Mrs. Hudson climbed onto the shovel with a nervous, “Be careful with me Sherlock.”

He carried her over to the symbols and carefully stepped inside so they were a part of the spell. A look of intense concentration came over Sherlock’s face as he stepped inside the design, John didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so focused. A strong wind began to blow, the same wind John had felt in his dream, he was certain of it. It made Sherlock’s hair flow in particularly distracting ways. John was equally distracted by the flecks of colored light that were flying around them. Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson flared up, burning with a blue-white light, her normally sweet face was distorted in a truly demonic way. She shone so brightly that John had to squint his eyes almost closed. Though his eyes were screwed up, he could still hear some of what was happening. There were cracking noises and popping. Window rattled in frames and stone ground against stone. Everything around them shuddered and John gripped the tabletop to avoid being bucked off. With a final whoosh and slam of a door, the noise and movement came to a halt. John tentatively cracked an eye open. What he saw caused him to open both eyes wide in astonishment.

The room around them was completely transformed. The hole in the wall was gone, replaced by a face in faintly glowing yellow paint. All of the mess seemed to have disappeared as well. The kitchen was larger, complete with a brand new stove and an area set aside for smaller experiments. The sitting room was smaller, but cozier, with bookshelves on either side of Mrs. Hudson’s hearth. Two windows flanked a writing desk with room for three people. A long leather couch sat beneath the painted face, just asking for someone to take a nap on it. Sherlock’s beloved chrome and leather monstrosity remained in its place to the right of Mrs. Hudson, but it now had a mate. This chair did not make a matched pair, however. It too had squashy, comfortable cushions but these were a warm, worn tartan print with a cozy afghan thrown across the back. It was precisely the kind of chair he remembered his grandfather Hamish had in his home in Scotland years ago.

“Oh, Master Holmes, it’s great!” Molly breathed in awe. “I’m going to go see what’s become of the lab upstairs!” she stood up from the table, which was now much lower to the ground, a now perfect coffee table. Her movement prompted John to rise and explore some more himself. 

“What do you think John?” Sherlock asked eagerly. “The ground floor and basement are ours as well. I thought you could use them to open a small practice or something.” his eyes shone with excitement but it seemed a bit forced and John barely had time to respond as he was whisked downstairs to view the rooms that would indeed make a tidy little clinic.

“And look! I’ve added on a room just for you.” he opened a door with a flourish and John entered slowly to find himself inside a near perfect replica of his old apartment. The view from the window was even similar to his view there, so they must be close by. John was overcome by memories of that old life. Suddenly he felt quite old indeed. His shoulders unconsciously bowed in resignation. 

“This is perfect for the help.” he said softly, watching a train pass in the distance. 

Sherlock didn’t seem to hear him, but called from outside the room. “Come, John.There’s something else I want to show you!” Heaving a sigh at the unreasonable melancholy that had overcome him, John gave in to the inexorable pull that was Sherlock only to find himself being dragged down the stairs again. This time they stopped at the front door and Sherlock crowded in close to John in the shadowed entrance-way. John tried to quell his quickening pulse, but Sherlock seemed unaffected and only indicated the dial next to the door. The circle of the dial was now divided into fifths, to include a new blue triangle.

“I’ve added a new door. Just for you, so you can visit whenever you like.” He turned the dial before John could say anything and then they were through the door and out in the bright light of Sussex.

The wind off the sea ruffled the ankle-high grass, causing the wildflowers dotted here and there to dance merrily. There didn’t appear to be anyone around for miles. They had entered the countryside through what appeared to be a lonely garden shed, standing isolated in a field.

“This is amazing!” John shouted, gazing over a high, white cliff to the ocean below. The tide was out and yards of dark, wet sand lay exposed to the air and the lapping waves.

“I know we were here the other day for a few hours, but I feel like I’ve known this place my entire life. Isn’t that weird?” he looked at Sherlock, but the wizard was wearing his inscrutable look again, his eyes shining silver as he looked at John.

“Come on.” he said, as though John hadn’t spoken, “I want to show you something.” he led them away over a rocky footpath, offering his hand to John when the ground got precarious. Finally, they stopped at the top of a gentle hill. Below them sat a small white, stone cottage. The roof was thatched and several smaller white structures were arranged within the vibrantly colorful garden that surrounded the little house. Sherlock held out a hand and a bee, its legs heavy with pollen, alighted on his cupped palm. As he watched the creature inspect Sherlock’s hand, he realized that the smaller structures below must be hives. 

“So, I’m guessing you didn’t use your magic to make all of this?” he asked teasingly. Sherlock laughed in response, “No, the bees do most of the work.” he looked down at the house a moment longer before he spoke again, “I spent a lot of time here as a child, working on the hives and my other experiments and spells.”

John frowned, “What? All alone?” he asked, looking up at Sherlock who seemed lost in thought. He shrugged off his memories and John’s concern, “I was a...difficult child, as I’m sure you can imagine. My schoolfellows didn’t like or understand me. But my uncle, who was also a wizard, gave me this place as a kind of safe place to study. It was here that I decided not to return to the Wizard Academy. Mycroft would say it’s where I lost my heart, but I have many happy memories here. And now I want you to be able to visit it whenever you like.” He’d been staring down at the house during this astonishing speech, but at the last statement he turned and smiled at John. He started to trot down the hill toward the house, but turned back when he registered John’s absences. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. John’s brow was furrowed in worry and he hadn’t moved from his spot on the hill.

“Why are you talking like this? You make it sound as if you’re leaving.” John had heard his share of this kind of talk from fellow soldiers. Those who were sure they weren’t going to make it home. He was getting the same sense of making arrangements for other people’s future from Sherlock’s confusing actions, and it frightened him. 

“Sherlock, tell me what’s going on. Please. I don’t care if you’re a monster, it’s all fine with me.” Sherlock came back up the hill, standing just below him on the rise so that they were eye to eye. “I’m just trying to make things comfortable for all of you. With all of the flowers and herbs in the gardens here, Molly can make potions and ointments for all the patients in your clinic.” his face wore the most innocent expression. John didn’t trust it for a minute.

“So you are going away. Please, Sherlock. I can help you, I know I can. Even if I look like a useless old man now, I used to be a soldier. I’m a crack shot and...and you know I’m a doctor. If you need someone to stitch you up, I can be that person. Don’t shut me out. I know I may not look like much, but I can you with whatever it is you’re fighting.” Sherlock opened his mouth as if to respond, but after a second’s silence John looked away. “And the good thing about being old is you’ve got nothing to lose.” he concluded bitterly. One of Sherlock’s hands hovered in the air, as if he wanted to grasp John, but his attention was arrested by something over his shoulder.   
“What’s that doing here?” he asked in a quiet, curious voice.

John turned and saw an unmarked airship making its way over the water just off the coast. Commercial vessels were required to have their company logos clearly visible on airships and few private airships were usually in better shape than this ship. John surmised it was a smugglers ship just as Sherlock lifted his head to sniff the breeze. His face contorted as though he’d smelled something rotten and he exhaled in a snort to rid himself of the stench.

“Moriarty.” he muttered with distaste, but his eyes were gleaming with excitement. He looked back at John and the silver in his eyes seemed to shimmer. “You say you’re a crack shot?” he asked.

“Ah, er, yes.” John stammered.

“Excellent.” Sherlock stretched out a long arm and, with the palm of his hand, gave a sweeping wave at the ship.

Almost immediately, they heard the love hum of the airship’s engines grind to a halt. The ship hovered in silence for a second before alarms began blaring and the entire structure started a slow descent toward the water. Suddenly, a mass of dark shapes were ejected from what must have been the cargo bay of the ship. The ships coalesced into individuals, shapeshifted wizards, that flew straight toward them. Where they stood, unsheltered on the cliff, they were easy targets. As the wizards drew closer, John automatically raised his shooting arm, not entirely surprised to find a gun gripped in his hand. He let off a few warning shots but the oncoming army didn’t falter. 

Focused on the immediate threat, he only peripherally registered Sherlock’s movements until two sets of talons gripped his shoulders through the wool of his jumper. 

“Keep them busy.” came the gruff, distorted voice he remembered from the night before. JOhn obeyed without hesitation. He squeezed off a few more shots, aiming now, and was gratified to see them reach their targets even though he was flying through the air. Soon, he’d reduced their numbers and he felt Sherlock descend toward the ground. He couldn’t see where they were headed and had just a second to register Sherlock’s warning of “Brace yourself.” before there was a familiar squeak of hinges and he was being unceremoniously deposited on the interior steps of the Castle, the door slamming shut behind him.


	18. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good night, John...and don’t worry about Master Holmes. Sometimes he’s gone for days on end. But he always comes back.” she ducked her head and he thought he heard her mutter something like “He would never leave you.” before she turned and hurried upstairs.

“John? Is that you?” Mrs. Hudson’s concerned voice flickered down the stairwell, followed by the sound of Molly’s footsteps. She reached him to find him attempting to get up from his spot sprawled across the stairs. Helping him to his feet, she watched with concern as he rubbed at his lower back where it had collided with the corner of a stair. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m too old for this.” John grumbled and turned to make his way up the stairs.

John spent the rest of the afternoon and evening writing up all that had happened to him over the past few days into an empty notebook he’d found in the drawer of the bedside table in his new room. The curse forced him to leave out any significant details about himself though, so it ended up sounding like a story about Sherlock and the Castle. Which he had to admit, it really was. 

He paused to make dinner for himself and Molly, but wasn’t up for much conversation, instead focusing on recording as much of the story as possible. Even to him, it looked fantastical. Still, it was helpful to get as much of it out on paper as possible. 

When Molly decided she was turning in for the night, he turned from his seat at the writing desk to give her a fond smile.

“Good night, Molly.”

“Good night, John...and don’t worry about Master Holmes. Sometimes he’s gone for days on end. But he always comes back.” she ducked her head and he thought he heard her mutter something like “He would never leave you.” before she turned and hurried upstairs. 

John shook his head to clear his obviously stuffed up ears and gazed out of one of the large sitting room windows. All night the sky had been full of strange lights. They reminded him of heat lightning he’d seen during his army days, but they rarely got that in this part of the country. He would have to ask Sherlock about it. Then he remembered that Sherlock wasn’t home and he had no idea when he would return, or if he was still being pursued by Moriarty’s people, or even if he was hurt. He let out a gusty sigh that fogged a large circle on the window pane in front of him.

 

“You’ve been doing that all day, you know.” An unfamiliar voice interrupted his thoughts and John spun around, senses on high alert for intruders. His first sweep of the room showed no one, but on closer inspection he noticed that Anthea was looking directly at him from her perch on the arm of the sofa. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and the reflection of Mrs. Hudson’s comforting glow. 

A week ago John would have spluttered in disbelief that a cat had just spoken to him, but now he only said tartly, “Of course you can talk. And now I expect you’ll be deducing all sorts of things about me, won’t you? Well, it’s not necessary, I assure you. I know I’ve been sighing all day and yes, I do know the reasons for it.” he raised both eyebrows in an arch expression that dared her to argue with him. She returned the arch look.

“Good, I’m glad you’re able to admit you’re in love with him. I was worried I would have to convince you of the fact and that would have been tiresome.” John rolled his eyes at her.

“Right now my biggest concern is his safety. He’s out there doing god-knows-what without someone to watch his back. It’s like he has a death wish or something, and I’m stuck here being useless, as usual.” John grumbled, looking out the window again. 

The strange lightning continued to light up corners of the dark city in an almost methodical way. The quiet voice came from behind him again.

“Sherlock most certainly does not have a death wish. At least, he doesn’t have one any longer. On the contrary, he believes he’s finally found something worth living for. Something he thinks is worth protecting.” She stood and arched her back, padding toward him, “When he moved us, he placed even more powerful shielding spells on the Castle. Thanks to that and Mrs. Hudson, Moriarty is searching the city in vain.” 

She stretched herself into a long, black streak, her forepaw resting on the window pane. She and John watched the periodic bursts of light in silence while he processed what she’d said and all that it implied. Finally, his bruised back and drooping eyelids forced him to call it a night and he shuffled off to bed. 

When he looked back, Anthea was still keeping watch at the window, a long thin silhouette illuminated by streetlamps and magical lightning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter seems a bit short, but this felt like a good place to end because next week we get a visitor!
> 
> It is crazy to think we're about 3/4 through the story!


	19. The Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She says she’s your sister?” John’s confusion melted immediately. “Harry!” he hurriedly put down his clipboard and raced up the two flights of stairs to the main area of the flat.

When the doorbell rang the next morning, John was sorting and cataloguing the contents of their new basement. For a second his heart leapt into his throat until he realized Sherlock would have no reason to ring the doorbell in his own home, he opened the door with one magical wave of his hand. He went back to his work, dismissing the interruption as someone looking for one of Sherlock’s aliases. So he was busy noting down the various dried herbs hanging from the ceiling when he heard soft footsteps come down the stairs followed by Molly’s equally soft voice, “John? There’s someone at the door for you?”

John turned to her with raised eyebrows and Molly continued hesitantly, “She says she’s your sister?” John’s confusion melted immediately. “Harry!” he hurriedly put down his clipboard and raced up the two flights of stairs to the main area of the flat.

He paused at the door to drink in the sight of his sister’s familiar form inside his new home. Guilt suddenly bit at his gut, he couldn’t remember sending any messages to her beyond the first letter assuring her he was okay. She must have been worried sick. He really should have thought of her before she was forced to ferret out his location. A small voice that sounded remarkably like Sherlock whispered in his mind, ‘how did she find us? There are protection spells all over this Castle.’ But he brushed the voice away when Harry finished looking around the room and saw him in the doorway.

“Johnny!” she exclaimed, her husky voice the only thing that kept it from becoming a squeal. She rushed forward and enveloped him in a tight hug. “I couldn’t believe it when someone in the pub told me they’d seen you around this part of town. It’s a bit posh, eh? Where have you been?!” She pulled back just enough to look John over, “And what happened to you? You look so old!” she reached a finger toward the sagging skin around one eye. John jerked his head back before she could make contact. He wasn’t sure why, but the little voice that sound like Sherlock advised him to keep his distance and he decided he agreed. He chuckled weakly as he stepped out of her reach.

“Thanks Harry, you always know just what to say to make a chap feel good about himself. You’re always forgetting that I’m the older sibling, of course I look old, no need to rub it in you know. As for where I’ve been, I just decided I needed a change of scenery. I traveled for a bit and then found this place. The rent’s decent and I help out keeping the place tidy for a discount on my share.” The curse would have stopped him from explaining anymore than that, and after her initial reaction to his interaction with Sherlock, he certainly wasn’t going to tell her he was living with the wizard. 

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Let me get this straight. My big brother, the war hero and qualified doctor is a...what? A cleaning lady?” She was incredulous but John could only shrug his shoulders. She was quiet for another second or two before launching into an unprompted but full scale review of the past few weeks of her life, apparently satisfied with John’s explanation.

“Oh and Clara and I are back together! We’re going to make it work this time, I know it. She even got a big promotion at work so we’re looking at getting a nicer place. You should come stay with us while you’re...figuring things out or whatever it is that you’re doing. You won’t even have to clean the place, I promise.”

John smiled at this odd version of his sister. She was bright eyed and sober as far as he could tell, but still she seemed so amped up that she was liable to vibrate out of her own skin at any moment. “That’s great, Harry really great. I’m happy for you. And thanks for the offer but I like it here.” At this he thought he heard the fire give a relieved sounding crackle. Harry raised an eyebrow, “You’re sure?” John nodded.

Harry eyed him speculatively, “She is a bit young for you, old boy.”she said and burst into chortles of laughter when John rushed to assure her it wasn’t like that. “Relax, big brother! Oh! I nearly forgot, I left a cab waiting outside with the meter running. Christ, that’s going to be expensive. I’ve gotta dash, Johnny.”

She gave him another swift hug and then galloped down the stairs, slamming the door behind her. 

John stood alone in the sitting, trying to process all that had just happened and tried to pinpoint just what about the meeting had made him uncomfortable. He didn’t get long to think about it when a blur of white and brown collided with him. Molly held his arm fiercely and looked into his eyes. “You’re not going to go with her are you? I know Master Holmes isn’t easy to get along with, but he’s so much better when you’re around.” John’s chest ached at these words and he put his arms around the young woman and assured her he was going nowhere. 

Outside, Harry slid into the backseat of a black cab. The smile fell from her face as she said, “It’s done. Now take me to my wife.” The cabbie caught her eye in the rearview mirror and grinned at her. The cold expression transformed his unassuming face into something terrifying. A bulbous nose and crooked, discolored teeth added to the sinister look. “Wizard Moriarty will be glad to hear that.” he said before adjusting his cloth cap and pulling out into the flow of traffic. 

Harry looked out the window at John’s new flat as they pulled away. “Forgive me, John.” she whispered softly.


	20. Peeping bugs and Exploding Bombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sherlock!” John cried, but his voice was drowned out when the other bombs hit their targets. Heat and glass exploded all around him and the ground quaked, shaking his footing. John shielded his head from flying debris and stumbled before he could brace himself.

When John reassured Molly enough to calm her fears, he sent her back upstairs to her experiments with a reminder that dinner would be ready around 6:00. He turned to return to his own work, but the persistent niggle of suspicion he’d felt the moment his sister had embraced him, continued to tingle down his spine. He looked around the room from his vantage point by the door. Nothing was out of place or missing, but then he noticed something new, lying on the far side of the sofa near the window. Closer inspection revealed that it was a woman’s purse. The only explanation for its presence was that it had been forgotten by Harry in her haste to leave. But his sister didn’t carry a purse. In fact, she detested them, something John knew very well having sat through many impassioned rants on the evils of purses- they cut into Harry’s shoulder, she could never find what she needed inside them, and they were too easy to forget. John didn’t fault her for these opinions, really, but why had she brought a purse with her today? 

Unless she had something she wanted to leave behind…

He quickly upended the bag onto the writing desk, spilling its meager contents across the wooden table top. Some papers, a tube of lipstick, and an unmarked container fell out followed by something black that started to squiggle away the instant it hit the table. John instinctively reached out and grabbed it before it got very far. The strange, wormlike creature wriggled in protest, but he held it firmly and look at it curiously. The thing was obviously magical in origin, John could feel the spell that gave it life thrumming under his fingers.

“Mrs. Hudson, do you know what this is?” he asked, realizing this was the first time he’d spoken to her since he’d entered the room. 

“Bring it closer, dear, I can’t quite see it from here.” he obliged and brought it closer to her. The fire demon screwed her face into an expression of fiery disgust. “Oh no, I’m afraid that’s a peeping bug. It appears Moriarty is stooping to blackmail in order to get information on our location. You’d better give it to me, I don’t think Molly knows how to get rid of these sorts of things just yet and Sherlock isn’t home.” She reached upward with a flaming tendril and John dubiously held the struggling thing close enough that she could reach it. She curled the flame around one dancing end of the creature and popped it into her mouth with a grimace and a small burp. “Pardon me.” she said politely.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” John asked worriedly. “You look a little...queasy.”

It was true, the fire demon had an uncomfortable look on her flickering face and her smoke had taken on a funny smell. “It certainly wasn’t my first choice, but a little indigestion never hurt anyone.” she burped discreetly into a curled flame before she continued. “You should probably check the rest of the contents of that bag. If I know Moriarty, he won’t have stopped with just one thing when he could send three.”

John approached the table, with its collection of items arranged on top like the finds of an archeological dig. He picked up the slim stack of folded papers. Unfolding them cautiously, he found himself looking at an image of Harry and Clara, on a picnic. They looked happy and John was momentarily distracted by their happiness until he remembered there was more than one piece of paper to look through. Flipping to the next, he found another photo. It was a wizard’s photo, so the subject of the photo moved-something that always fascinated John, but this time it made his stomach clench with fear and apprehension. Because the person in the photo was Clara. But instead of the smiling and happy Clara from the picnic photo, this version was obviously frightened. The background was dark and there was a bright light shining on her, so he couldn’t figure out where she was being held. Clara’s tight curls were matted on one side of her head and looked darkly wet, with what he couldn’t tell. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot and wide open in fear. Her dark complexion seemed sallow and there was a cut across the curve of one of her rounded cheeks. Her appearance was so alarming that it took John to notice the sign she was holding. He stared at it and realized it too must have been spelled because it flickered back and forth between messages.

They said: “Find your brother.” “Find me.”

John shook his head and tried to wet his suddenly dry lips with a nervous tongue. His heart ached for Harry. He hoped her mission was considered complete now that she’d planted the peeping bug. It stung a bit to know that his safety ranked lower than Clara’s but he couldn’t bring himself to be too angry with her betrayal. If he were honest with himself, he would have done the same in a similar situation, the Watson siblings had been raised to take care of themselves and protect others. He was glad to see Harry stepping into that role for Clara and only wished he could help her but he knew that all of his energy and attention was needed here to protect this new family he’d literally stumbled into. He folded the pictures back up and set them aside.

Next, he picked up the tube of lipstick. Squinting at the colorful circle on the bottom of the cylinder, he vaguely recognized a shade similar to what Harry liked to wear, it was hard to forget that deep magenta color, especially when she left it on every surface she came in contact with, from cheeks to cigarettes to pint glasses. Carefully, he pulled the halves apart and found it really was just a tube of lipstick, though one used down to a mere smudge of color. Relieved, he slid the two halves together again and turned to the remaining item.

It was a small, unassuming pot. The kind used for face powder. The container had a black lid but the rest of it was clear and John could see pale peach colored powder sift back and forth inside when he tilted it this way and that. He carefully unscrewed the lid and was immediately blind by a puff of smoke--no powder--his shaking of the pot had caused some of its contents to become airborne. He coughed and waved a hand to dispel the small cloud. It didn’t seem to help, instead his attempts at clearing the air only pushed the cloud around the room, and it appeared to be growing. Over his coughing he heard Mrs. Hudson ask weakly, “John? What’s going on? I can’t see you.”

Then he heard Molly’s voice too, muffled by the growing cloud. “John? What is all this? Hang on, I’ll open a window and get some air in here.” he felt the cloud swirl around him as she went past to the window.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” said Anthea’s quiet voice. John looked down to see her sitting at his feet, well below the smoky powder. “Mrs. Hudson is too weak to protect us from Moriarty’s eyes. If the windows are open, we’ll be sitting ducks.” she explained. 

“Molly, wait!” John shouted, just as the girl pushed open a window. He ran over and pulled it closed again. But it was too late.

They heard a droning noise and then an explosion. The skyline was illuminated, but not from mysterious lightning, this was very obviously fire. Someone was bombing the city. Several more explosions were heard and felt, the china rattled in the cabinets, the windows shuddered in their frames. Each concussion felt closer and closer, proving just who was behind the bombs.

“Molly, Anthea! Get down to the basement.” John ordered, slipping into defense mode. The lowest level of the house be the safest place be if they were bombed. There was only one exit which was not ideal, but he had to work with what he had. “Sorry Mrs. Hudson, I’ll try and be back as soon as I can.” he shouted as he pounded down the stairs to the street level entrance. He opened the door and and looked down the street. Flames and the sounds of breaking glass filled the air. 

John ventured down the street, torn between giving aid to any wounded and staying close to protect Molly, Anthea and Mrs. Hudson. He was debating with himself when he saw them. Some were magically transfigured wizards but others were the more familiar human lackeys of Moriarty. They weren’t yet aware of his presence, too immersed in smashing windows with enchanted molotov cocktails that exploded into terrifying fire creatures on contact. 

“Hey!” John shouted before he realized what a colossally stupid thing it was to do. “You think you could manage not to destroy an entire city to find one wizard, or are you too stupid for that task?” The wizards turned towards his voice in one creepy movement, but it took the humans a second to make him out in the growing darkness. Finally, a familiar man in a dented bowler stepped forward and leered at John, the firelight flickering off a gold front tooth. 

“Why, if it isn’t Wizard Holmes’ little mouse.” Hollis sneered. “We’ve been looking for you, little pet, and your owner too. What little hole did you scurry out from?” He threw one last device into a nearby window and started toward John, followed by the rest of the gang. They were sauntering, but their smiles were sharp and their crooked, discolored teeth glinted in the firelight. The wizards oozed after them, their gait unsteady but inexorable.

“Shit.” John muttered under his breath and turned to run back to the house. He was considering running past the flat’s door, keeping them away though he knew they’d catch him eventually, when he felt the rushing wind and hum of engines above him. He froze as he looked up into the open bottom of the airship and watched a line of missiles detach and fall toward the city. One bomb fell straight towards the street where John was standing.

He couldn’t even close his eyes as he felt the familiar mantra ‘Please God, don’t let me die” well up in his mind, and that’s how he saw what happened next. A dark shape dove toward the bomb, catching it by it’s tail fins and slowing its descent. 

“Sherlock!” John cried, but his voice was drowned out when the other bombs hit their targets. Heat and glass exploded all around him and the ground quaked, shaking his footing. John shielded his head from flying debris and stumbled before he could brace himself. When he raised his head from his arms and blinked the smoke away from his eyes he saw Sherlock leaning against the unexploded missile, mere feet away from him. 

He wore a smug look on his face and John found it almost annoying that he could still look calm, posh and somehow sexy all while surrounded by destruction and covered in blue-back feathers. Every part of his body, save his face, was covered in feathers, small downy ones fanned across his cheekbones making them even more ridiculously prominent than ever.

Still, ridiculousness aside, John’s knees went weak at the sight of him standing whole and unharmed mere feet away. He stumbled again as he rushed toward him, moving on instinct. 

“Sherlock! You’re okay.” The stumble brought him conveniently into the circle of Sherlock’s embrace and he clung to him without reserve, greedily inhaling the scent that was quintessentially Sherlock, even in this form.

He felt the rumble of Sherlock’s words vibrate through his chest before he heard the words themselves. “Sorry, John, I should’ve gotten here more quickly.” John pulled back and looked into Sherlock’s face. He was smiling down at the shorter man, despite the danger all around them, “You idiot.” John said, but there was no venom behind the words and Sherlock’s smile widened even more while the arm around John’s waist tightened. They both heard the unmistakable gurgling sound of the wizards recovering from the explosions and they turned as one to go back inside. 

Sherlock swept them in the door and up the stairs in a confusion of wings. Those wizards who attempted to cross the threshold behind them were sucked back out with a furious slurping noise, followed by the sound of the slamming door. The commotion brought Molly and Anthea running to the top of the stairs. They’d obviously abandoned the basement after John had left, he was about to scold Molly for disobeying a direct order when her words reached him. 

“Master Holmes! John! Something’s wrong with Mrs. Hudson!” there was fear in her voice and a weak coughing could be heard in the room behind her.

Sherlock and John continued up the stairs and only when Sherlock deposited him in the sitting room did John realize the wizard had been carrying him the entire time. the room was hazy, with a mixture of whatever was still pouring from the small pot and the strange smoke that Mrs. Hudson seemed to be emitting. Neither seemed to be escaping through the chimney, preferring instead to choke the inhabitants of the room.

Sherlock made his way to the fire demon easily despite his impressive wingspan and the lack of visibility. “Hang in there, Hudders.” he said jovially, reaching out a hand and making a grabbing movement with his claws. The strange color seemed to be drawn out of her, hovering in a ball before of colored light before dissipating with a small pop, and Mrs. Hudson rolled over with a relieved groan.

“Blagh, I had to eat one of those dreadful peeping bugs, Sherlock. You know those don’t agree with me.”she told the wizard who was already turning away with a murmur of agreement. He picked up the small clear container and its black lid. He tapped the two pieces together and looked around expectantly. A moment passed, then the powder began to gather in on itself and funneled itself back into the pot, as if its initial release had been reversed. 

“Amazing.” John breathed when the powder was returned to its home, leaving a nary a trace around the room. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him. “You know you do that out loud?” he asked playfully. John looked right back at him when he replied. “Yeah, I do. And I think you like it.” This time it was Sherlock who ducked his head and flushed a bit under his cheek feathers. John took a step forward, but his approach was stalled by a booming voice that rang out in the street outside. The broken windows meant they could make out every word of the disturbing message.

“Oh Sherlock, come on out now. I think it’s time we had a little heart to heart. There’s no use hiding. I’ll find you soon enough and I don’t care who I have to destroy to get to you…” Sherlock’s face hardened and he turned to leave. “Stay here. Mrs. Hudson will protect you. I’ll stand guard outside.” John was not fooled.

“No, Sherlock! You can’t go out there, it’s too dangerou. We both know Moriarty is capable of horrible things, we know he’s serious destroying you.” John had his hand on Sherlock’s back and felt the feather flutter at his touch. Sherlock turned to look at him, his eyes were solemn. “He’s not going to stop looking for us.” he said quietly.

John’s breath caught in his throat, “Then let’s run.” he said, hating himself for the very thought but not willing to risk Sherlock for something as useless as his old notions of bravery. He knew neither of them would actually be willing to consider running away, but it didn’t stop him from trying. “We don’t have to stay here, let’s run away. We’ll keep running so he can never find us.” Sherlock smiled sadly.

“I’ve been running long enough and now I have something I want to fight for, John. You. Me. All that we can be. But first, I have to do this.And once you’ve thought about it, I know you wouldn’t want me to put innocent lives at risk for the sake of yours.” All John could get out was a surprised “Oh!” shocked that everything everyone had told him about Sherlock really was true. It took him a second to realize he was no longer standing with Sherlock, but rather looking at loose feathers drifting toward the floor.

“Come back!” he yelled and tore down the stairs to fling the door open. He ran into the street just in time to see Sherlock soar off into the sky, lit by the artificial sunsets of the fires still raging around the city. 

A group of wizards loitered nearby and advanced toward John menacingly. His mouth curved into his angriest smile before he executed an about face turn and reentered the Castle, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter was a bit longer, wasn't it? Not having the normal Witch of the Waste has made for some interesting improvising, but I like the way it's seemed to go so far.
> 
> We're nearing the end of the story and I'm torn between wanting to write it all right away and putting it off so it doesn't end. Which means I might need some guilt tripping from people who want to read the end...


	21. A Flight in Darkness and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky looked like a watercolor painting of a vibrant sunset, red and oranges gave way to purples and violets that finally succumbed to the proper darkness of night. As he left the city behind and below he left the color as well.

The sky looked like a watercolor painting of a vibrant sunset, red and oranges gave way to purples and violets that finally succumbed to the proper darkness of night. As he left the city behind and below he left the color as well. The noises of town also fell away, crackle of fires and cries for help giving way to the whistle of wind through feathers. Normally, Sherlock reveled in this sensation. Normally, he needed it. 

Time away from the cacophony of the city he loved, where there were too many distractions, too many unwanted responsibilities vying for his attention. It was why he’d built the Moving Castle, why he’d created the different false identities, why he’d learned to shapeshift. So he would always have an easy escape route when his surroundings became too overwhelming.

But this flight wasn’t about escape. This flight, away from a city that burned and crackled unnecessarily, had a purpose. And that was to put an end to Moriarty and his ridiculous obsession.

He knew that he should’ve resolved things with Moriarty years ago, but the other wizard was the only other person Sherlock had ever met, besides Mycroft who came even close to rivaling Sherlock for genius and power. And that, for once, wasn’t boring. 

In school, they hadn’t been friends precisely. They had compared accomplishments- each trying to outdo the other. 

Moriarty had been the one to find the ancient scroll that described the separation of heart from body, and told of the added strength from the body. Additionally, having the heart outside the body kept a wizard from deteriorating into a beast when in a transfigured state. Not permanently, but it delayed the inevitable. It was the ultimate coup for a wizard, and should only be attempted by one fully trained in the magical arts. So of course Sherlock and Moriarty were eager to try it for themselves.

And when Sherlock returned to school after break with an arsenal of new knowledge and abilities, Moriarty immediately deduced what Sherlock had done. What he couldn’t work out was how he had done it. Now that it was done, Sherlock had no intention of sharing the details of the ordeal. Revealing that would leave him too vulnerable so he avoided Moriarty, eventually deciding to leave the Academy and study independently. The not knowing drove Moriarty insane, though it was never clear how sane he’d been at the start. He became obsessed with finding out how he could divorce his own hear from his body and when each attempt failed, he turned his considerable talents to finding Sherlock’s heart and destroying it. His underground empire was a fortunate byproduct that helped fuel and fund his search.

For years it had been amusing, staying a step or two ahead of Moriarty’s grasping clutches But now...his thoughts detoured down a hallway in his mind palace that led to the wing dedicated to John Watson.

A flash of the doctor as he’d first seen him, poised and ready to fight Moriarty’s men in that filthy alley, sprang up before him. It was followed by the pleased shock he’d experienced when he’d come home two days later to find the same man cooking breakfast over his fire demon. Sherlock wasn’t sure how John had found the Castle out on the Wastes, but Mrs. Hudson clearly approved of him. Something about John’s new appearance was still endearing and Sherlock felt the strangest compulsion to keep him close. He admitted to himself he was glad to see him again. HE told himself it was because John hadn’t responded to anything the way ordinary people would. 

Ordinary people would have begged Moriarty’s thugs not to hurt them. John Watson was willing to fight, even though he was outmatched. 

Ordinary people would have screamed in terror at being levitated high above busy city streets. John Watson handled it with surprising ease.

Ordinary people, when cursed into the body of an 80 year old, curled up and waited for death. John Watson left his comfortable home and made his way into The Wastes and coaxed a fire demon into cooking his breakfast.

Ordinary people were boring.

John Watson was most decidedly not boring. 

And he’d continued to not be boring. He’d charmed a cursed scarecrow- the creature had obviously fallen in love with him. He had dealt with Sherlock in one of his darkest moods and not been annoyed enough to leave. He’d cleaned and cooked and made the Castle seem like an actual home. And he looked at Sherlock as if he were some sort of magical creature. And though Sherlock was a magical creature, this felt different.

Although his physical appearance was very different from the attractive young man he’d deposited on the balcony on their first meeting, Sherlock still found the man fascinating, proof he would likely find him fascinating until the end of his days. 

He knew that John believed Sherlock was unaware he was the same man, as if Sherlock was incapable of seeing through a simple aging curse. He’d wanted to immediately lift the curse, if only to see that same look of awe that had thrilled him when he’d dropped John off on that balcony. But, frustrating as it was to see him like that everyday and do nothing, let on nothing, he’d refrained. Moriarty’s signature was all over the spell. Sherlock hadn’t known why at the time, but deduced quickly that he was targeting John to get to Sherlock. So he left the curse where it was. 

But John’s own strength and some strain of inherent magic- elemental if Sherlock had to guess, but he’d need to do some experiments to know for sure- meant that Sherlock’s aid was almost unnecessary. Every day John looked more and more like his old- or rather, younger- self. It was particularly obvious whenever he was happy, or when he was defending or protecting Sherlock. Then, his back straight and shoulders squared, the years fell away smoothing his face and his voice rang out clear and strong. His hair stayed a silvery blonde, but Sherlock thought it rather suited him- not that he’d ever admit as much out loud. It was only when John was dejected, made to remember that he was cursed or bored that he reverted back to his fully cursed state. It made Sherlock gnash his teeth in frustration every time he watched his strong doctor shrivel up into a sad, old man.

Soon, he promised himself, soon they would have time to talk and Sherlock would make sure John was never unhappy or bored again. Certainly that would keep John from aging further due to the curse. But first he needed to deal with Moriarty.

Ahead, in the darkness of true night, he saw the heaving wings of Moriarty’s airship. He grinned maliciously and headed straight for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was about time to hear something from Sherlock's perspective. And it was definitely fun and enlightening to hear from him (I hope you'll agree!). 
> 
> I think we've got 3 or 4 more chapters till this story is all wrapped up. Eek!


	22. Another Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was met with darkness. It was raining in The Wastes, a cold foggy, persistent drizzle that made him shiver as he stepped out into the night. From where the Castle stood, John could see the town spread out below them. Smoke and fire making it easily visible.

John stood behind the closed door, breathing heavily. He felt the doorknob, cool within his clenched fist, and he could hear the ineffectual scrabbling noise of the wizards outside. 

He took a few more calming breaths to clear the white spots from his vision and when he could see clearly again, his other hand was on the colored dial that controlled the portals. He spun the dial to the quadrant that led to The Wastes and immediately there was silence on the other side of the door. Still, John was hesitant when he opened the door and stuck his head outside. 

He was met with darkness. It was raining in The Wastes, a cold foggy, persistent drizzle that made him shiver as he stepped out into the night. From where the Castle stood, John could see the town spread out below them. Smoke and fire making it easily visible. 

“That’s where we are at the flat.” he thought, his eyes on the area of town where they lived, it was easy to find because it was the only area that had escaped the bombings so far.

A noise and movement in his peripheral vision brought his gaze around to the east. He could see it was airship, but it was in awful shape. It was still spitting line after line of bombs but there were fires breaking out all over it and it appeared to be losing altitude quickly. Then a large black shape, that John had taken to be smoke, reared up with a terrible roar that John was able to hear from miles away.

“That’s Sherlock!” he gasped as the ship went down. The hair on the back of John’s neck stood on end at the explosion the ship made when it hit the ground. he was certain Sherlock hadn’t been killed in the crash, but for how much longer would that be true?

John whirled around, unconsciously executing a military about face, and marched back to the open door of the Castle. Molly stood in the light that pooled over the threshold. As he stalked closer, Dolly the scarecrow hopped out of the mist to join her. Her thin cotton dress was damp from the rain and hung droopily on her straw padded body but John only nodded at her as he swept passed both of them. 

“Molly, I’m going to need your help!” he shouted over his shoulder as he pounded up the stairs. When she met him in the sitting room, she found Mrs. Hudson in a tizzy while John stood, straight as an arrow looking down at her with a stubborn look on his face.

“Are you crazy?” the fire demon asked incredulously, “I can’t move the portals without Sherlock!” her eyes were wide and panicked. 

“You have to, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock is going to keep protecting the flat, and Moriarty is going to continue to target the entire city and I can’t let either of those things happen.” he replied calmly.

She looked at him for a moment and then sighed. “Well, alright then. I can see your mind is set on this. How do you propose we do this without Sherlock?” John held up the spade from the set next to the fireplace. “I think if we take you out the Castle, it’ll break whatever spells Sherlock made to create the portals. Does that sound right?” he turned to Molly and tried to tell himself her face didn’t look panic stricken. She nodded though, and said “I think that might work. We’d all need to be out of the Castle when it happen. And I’d want to cast a protection shield around us because I’m not sure how the Castle’s structure will hold up without Mrs. Hudson. And I personally would rather not be crushed today. But yes, I think we could sever the connection to the portals that way.”

John knew his grin was a little feral and he tried to rein it in when he turned to Mrs. Hudson with a little bow and offered her the spade, “Well then, shall we?”

The worried look didn’t leave her face, but she crawled onto the small shovel. John balanced her gingerly and began to make his way down the stairs. He always thought she would weigh nothing at all, and she was rather light, but her form thrummed rapidly which made it hard for him to keep the spade level unless he gripped it with both hands. He could see Molly, Anthea, and Dolly standing outside. The young wizard finished muttering an incantation just as John reached the ground floor.

“Okay, I think we should safe from any falling debris.” she said when she saw him.

“Hurry up,” groused Anthea, looking unhappy as the drizzles wet her fur.

“Now be careful John. And make sure I’m the last one out, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have a feeling it’s not going to be pretty.” Mrs. Hudson instructed.

John turned around so he stood with his back to the Wastes. With a deep breath to steady himself against whatever was about to happen, he stepped backward. As Mrs. Hudson neared the threshold the Castle began to shake and groan eerily, their view through the doorway seemed to become distorted, wavering this way and that. The moment she passed out of the doorway the stairwell inside began to elongate, the second floor disappearing as if stretched by an invisible hand until there was a loud cracking noise as the stairwell seemed to reached its breaking point. The entire building shuddered and crashed in on itself. The giant structure collapsed as the magic that kept it mobile was suddenly missing. John and the rest group stood there, stunned by the terrible noise and destruction and thankful for Molly’s protective shield as the Castle sagged precariously right over their heads. Once everything seemed to have settled they all took a deep, relieved breath. Or John and Molly did. Dolly didn’t need to breathe, Anthea merely continued to give herself a bath, while Mrs. Hudson complained about the rain hitting her. 

“Do you think it worked?” John asked over the last creaks of the metal ad mortar. Molly and Mrs. Hudson both squinted at the Castle. “I think so..” they replied in unison.

“Alright, I guess we should try to find a way back inside.” John said, trying to sound like he wasn’t making up this plan as he went along. 

They began looking around of an unobstructed path inside. It was slow going, John was hampered by his careful hold on Mrs. Hudson’s spade, but Molly soon found a way. With some pushing, pulling and a great deal of wriggling they made their into what was left of the sitting room.

John place Mrs. Hudson back in the fireplace, or the hole that had once been the fireplace. The mantle had crumble a bit, and so had the chimney. He looked around the room for some firewood. He didn’t have to look far, there were beams of wood, panelling, and pieces of furniture and cupboards everywhere. Looking around as he gathered fuel, John had to admit the Castle was probably not better off for his presence. 

Sure, Sherlock had left the place looking like a pig sty but John seemed to periodically destroy the place.

He fed Mrs. Hudson a long table leg as she dodged drips and drafts from the mostly collapsed ceiling. “Oh look at this mess!” she fretted. “And it’s so cold and wet. All this wood is damp, John.”

“I know Mrs. Hudson, but it can’t be helped. Now. I need you to take us to Sherlock so he knows there’s no need to protect the flat.” The fire demon’s eyes widened as she sputtered, What?! You can’t be serious! Look at the state of this place!”

“Of course, I’m serious, MRs. Hudson. We have to warn Sherlock or he’ll continue to put himself in unnecessary danger.”

She looked uncertain for a moment before she looked up at him slyly, toying with a slender piece of wood. “Okay, but I can’t do it with this fuel. I’m going to need something more powerful, something important. How about your eyes?”she asked hopefully.

John reared back in shock. “What? My eyes? No!”

“Well I need something if I’m going to do something of this magnitude with the Castle in this state.” Mrs. Hudson said pointedly.

John thought for a moment, while he pondered he thought he heard something rustling in the shadows behind him, but brushed it off as further settling of the Castle when his mind caught on a alternate solution. 

“What about these?” he reached into the neck of his jumper pulled out his army dog tags, they clinked together as he drew the chain over his head. He wasn’t required to wear them any more but they were such a part of his identity that most of the time he forgot he was even wearing them. He held them out to the fire demon, not even sure they would burn enough to be of any good. The chain slid between his fingers when Mrs. Hudson grabbed at them and stuffed them into her mouth with an audible gobble. A warm metallic smell filled the air, followed by a roaring noise. Mrs. Hudson grew and grew, turning a brilliant blue as she reached the sagging ceiling. Her flaming arms braced against the support beams closest to her and hoisted. John could feel the Castle rise in the air and begin to move. As it did so, they all heard large thunks of what they could only hope were damaged or unnecessary pieces falling away. If he’d been driving the Castle, John would have felt alarmed but as Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem concerned he decided to trust her. With each loss, the Castle picked up speed and Mrs. Hudson laughed, not even strained by the effort. John knelt beside Molly who had found a hole in the floor. They both poked their heads out and squinted against the cold wind that slapped against their faces. In the distance, John could make out a large dark shape battling an entire swarm of smaller shapes. 

“I see Sherlock!” John cried turning to look back at Mrs. Hudson. “At this rate, we’ll get to him in no time! This is amazing Mrs. Hudson!” 

The blazing creature laughed again. “If you think this is amazing, imagine what I could’ve done with your eyes...Or your heart!” she added as an afterthought.  
John was just beginning to process what she might have meant by that when a figure stepped out of a clump of deep shadows.

“What a pretty fire.” Moriarty said, in that high pitched sing-song voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the movie it always bothered me that they're standing so close to the Castle when it collapses but nothing falls on them, so I fixed it in my version! Molly saves the day with her very smart protection shield. :)
> 
> And my John doesn't have a lovely braid like Sophie's so he had to give up something else instead, and Sherlock would never forgive Mrs. H if she actually took his eyes!


	23. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lilt of Moriarty’s voice froze John’s heart in his chest. Everyone else in the castle seemed arrested by it as well, even Mrs. Hudson’s flickering stopped for a moment as the slight figure emerged from the shadows.

The lilt of Moriarty’s voice froze John’s heart in his chest. Everyone else in the castle seemed arrested by it as well, even Mrs. Hudson’s flickering stopped for a moment as the slight figure emerged from the shadows. John had no idea how he’d gotten inside or how long he’d been hiding in the gloom beyond Mrs. Hudson’s glow but he had managed to keep suit impeccably clean and that fact added to the menace of his presence. 

Moriarty flicked away some nonexistent dust from his shoulders and straightened his cuffs before making his way toward the makeshift hearth. The reflection of the firelight glittered off his eyes, giving them an unearthly glow as he sinuously paced back and forth, picking his way around the debris of them room without pause. 

“Yes, such a pretty fire. And so powerful too. You know, I always wondered how Sherly kept this little contraption moving, but suddenly it’s all very clear.” he crooned and Mrs. Hudson shuddered. The Castle kept moving but their speed had slowed considerably as her attention was diverted by the danger before her.

Awareness of their deceleration jolted John out of his stupor and he sucked in a huge lungful of air as his heart started to thunder again. “What are you doing here?” he asked tightly. He started to rise from his place on the floor and bit back a wince as his knees creaked in protest. Moriarty’s head jerked in his direction and he laughed derisively as he watched John struggled to his feet. “I’m taking what I’ve come for, what I’ve been looking for all this time. Did you think this was all about you, doctor? You were just a ploy to make Sherlock vulnerable and it all worked out just the way I planned.” he grinned and John could see nothing in his expression that remotely resembled sanity. Not a scrap of reasonable thought with which he could hope to reason. “Sherlock’s heart is mine and I’m taking it.” Moriarty snarled and reached into the fireplace and plucked Mrs. Hudson out with both hands. Molly gasped and grabbed John’s arm as he tried to lunge forward. Mrs. Hudson shrieked loudly as she was roughly ripped from her spot in the hearth and Moriarty answered with a shriek of his own. 

Flames licked up his arms, consuming the fabric of his suit. He laughed maniacally squeezing at the mass of fire demon he held in his hands and clasped it close to his chest. Mrs. Hudson whimpered in pain and fear. The Castle jerked from side to side as its engine and pilot were hijacked. Everyone and everything inside slid in several directions. John and Molly clung to one another and tried their best to avoid being knocked senseless by crashing debris. They watched helplessly for a few seconds as Moriarty, supported by an intact wall, was almost completely covered in a corona of flames. Then the bite of Molly’s fingernails in his arm prompted John to snap closed his slackened jaw and cast about the room for something he could use to stop whatever was happening from, well, happening.

His eyes fell on the pail that usually held Mrs. Hudson kindling. It had been empty when they’d removed her from the Castle but was now filled to the brim with rain water that had dripped from the ceiling and its contents sloshed as it slid by him. With no other ideas springing to mind and Mrs. Hudson pain-filled cries filling his ears, John hoisted up the bucket by it’s handle. He barely had time to think ‘I hope this doesn’t kill them’ before he threw the bucketful of cold water all over the flaming wizard and fire demon. 

The fire sizzled out quite suddenly when doused with water and with it, Moriarty’s terrifying laughter. They all stood silently for a second. John and Molly panting, Moriarty dripping, Mrs. Hudson pulsing weak and blue with his clenched fists. Then the world cracked.

Or was it just the floor of the Castle? The moment of silence was over before it started and the world tilted under John. He was still holding the empty water pail as the portion of floor where he stood broke off from the rest of the room and pitched down and away. He saw Molly reach towards him, his name formed on her lips but the sound lost to the cracking and crumbling of the building around him and the wind whistling past his ears. He saw a black blur jump from the Castle but didn’t fully register what it meant before he something hit his head. Then everything was a blur of blackness. 

And he fell.

When he woke there was solid ground beneath him. A few pieces of splintered wood fell off his back when he sat up with a moan. The moment he saw where he was, at the bottom of a ravine, familiar debris from the Castle all around him, he remembered what had happened. Tears welled up in his eyes and he buried his head in his hands. 

“What have I done?” he whispered as shame and guilt rose in his chest. “I poured water on Mrs. Hudson. What if I’ve gone and killed them both?” he berated himself. He would have continued to cry if there hadn’t been a quiet but pointed sound of someone clearing their throat.

He looked up in surprise to see Anthea sitting before him, looking supremely unimpressed by his sorrow. “Oh, Anthea. I didn’t realize you were here.” John said through the tears still choking his throat. She didn’t deign to answer him, just stared pointedly at his hands where they had fallen to his lap. John glanced down and saw that his finger was glowing.

Or rather, the ring on his finger was glowing. He’d completely forgotten that he was still wearing the signet ring Sherlock had given him before his visit to the Tower of London. The same one that had led him back home when they were being chased by Moriarty’s goons. Maybe it could lead him back to Sherlock or the Castle again. Some of the despair that had settled over him seemed to dissipate. Just as before, the light from the ring seemed to bubble up As it grew in strength and intensity, it became a beam of light that pointed toward...toward a large piece of metal that had been part of the Castle’s outer wall. The metal rested against the side of the ravine. Anthea trotted over to it and sat there licking a paw to begin washing her ear. The ring pulsed around John’s finger as if to urge him on and he approached the thick curved metal paneling in confusion. He peered around it and thought he could make out something familiar. 

He braced his legs and with a grunt and several shoves, succeeded in levering the portion of metal wall away from the earthen one. It crashed tot the ground with a satisfyingly loud noise and John inspected what had been hidden behind it. Instead of the wall of bare earth he would have expected to find, John was instead greeted by the door of the Castle. Door frame and all, it stood flush against the ravine as if it had every right to be there. As if it had always been there, waiting for John to arrive and step through it.

The portal dial was set to its black quadrant and that was exactly what greeted John when he opened the door. All he could see was darkness, but he could feel a breeze tickle his face and he thought he recognized the scent of the sea. He lifted the hand wearing the ring and its beam of light barely pierced the darkness but it seemed to be refracted just enough that he would be able to make his way if he took it slowly and carefully. 

His face tightened in resolve and he stepped forward, over the threshold and the almost tangible darkness seemed to cover him and draw him further within itself.

Anthea looked up from her bathing as John disappeared into the darkness. With a sigh and a croaking mraow, she leapt into through the door after him. Leaving behind a darkened doorway that roared dully with the sound of a far off sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, I estimate we've only got three chapters after this one (including an epilogue)! 
> 
> I'm hoping to get most of those written today as I seem to be on a roll and my busiest time of year for work starts tomorrow plus I've got a few other stories I want to work on that I've put aside for the sake of this one. 
> 
> Anyway, I really wish I'd kept track of how many times I've rewatched the movie Howl's Moving Castle since starting this story back in Sept./Oct. because it would be a truly staggering amount of times! And I'm not even close to being sick of it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	24. Shooting Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darkness was all consuming.
> 
>  
> 
> Or John comes to some realizations with the help of time travel :)

The darkness was all consuming. Not only could he not see anything in front or around himself, save what little area was illuminated by the beam of light from his ring, the ground was also difficult to make out. And not just by sight. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was walking in space. But just the thought of that was enough to give John pause. He gave himself three beats of rest, took another deep breath and pressed onward. He was certain Anthea was still beside him, though he couldn’t see or hear the cat either. The dull roar of the sea slowly increasing in volume was the only indication that he was going anywhere at all. 

Then, up ahead, a faint rectangle began to take shape. John quickened his step. The closer he got, the larger and clearer the shape became, until he could see that it was a room. Soon, it was close enough that it replaced the darkness and John was able to step right inside. 

It looked to be a lab of some sort. There were tables cluttered with books, rolls of parchment, and various bubbling and smoking glass flasks and beakers set atop low flames. It all felt familiar, the mess and the smells of sulphur and other alchemical materials were very similar to Sherlock’s lab at home in the Castle. But though it seemed there were several experiments being conducted, there was no one to be found in the room.

“Hello?” John called tentatively, glancing over several pages of notes. They were all written in latin so John couldn’t decipher very much but a few phrases caught his attention. The first at the beginning of the notes read ‘Cor aut mors.’ From his medical training he knew ’cor’ meant ‘heart’ and ‘mors’ was death. It immediately brought Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson to mind and he could feel his throat once again clouding up with grief at what he might have done to the two of them. He heard a scratching noise and turned to see where it was coming from. He found Anthea standing beside a wooden door, looking to him expectantly. A burst of light through the window had him stepping away from the table with the intention of investigating, but one more phrase, scribbled into the margin of the page of notes caught his eye. ‘Cor ad cor loquitur.’ He puzzled over it for a second but Anthea’s cranky meow and another silent explosion of light outside distracted him and he moved toward the door. 

When they stepped outside, the smells of the sea and blooming flowers rushed over him and he knew instantly that he’d been here before. He looked around closely and recognized it as the cottage in Sussex that Sherlock had shown him. It was night now, but there appeared to be some sort of meteor shower occurring, the star studded sky further illuminated with streaks of light. But these meteors felt much closer than the shooting stars John had watched while on patrol in the desert. As he stood there, several streaks of light shot over the house and he ducked instinctively as they crashed toward the earth expecting the concussive explosion and subsequent shockwave. They hit the ground and exploded into brilliant explosions, but they were explosions of color and made no sound beyond a vague hissing and faint cry that sounded like voices in pain.

Their light had illuminated a figure standing out on the cliff’s edge. The figure was small but John was struck by another bolt of recognition and left the front step of the cottage to make his way toward the figure. More of the strange shooting stars passed just overhead as he walked and he heard one sizzle to an end in a small pond he was passing, John watched it curiously and only just saw the outline of a small, /faint figure before it sputtered out when it fell beneath the water. He drew in a shaking breath, realization beginning to dawn. He looked up at the figure again, sharply this time. 

“I know where I am.” he said suddenly, “I’m in Sherlock’s past.” As he said it he became aware of just how muddy and sticky the ground beneath him had become. The mud made it difficult for him to move forward quickly, much as he tried. 

Then a particularly brilliant shooting star arced in a path that led straight for the slight figure. The young boy’s pale skin glowed in the light as he extended long, bony arms and caught the bright star in his cupped hands. Even from the distance, it was obvious the boy was Sherlock. John could see all the bony limbs, cutting cheekbones and riotous curls that he would eventually wear so elegantly but now he imagined they were just the awkward and uncomfortable transport for the young genius. The younger Sherlock held the spark in his hands and they conferred as John watched them, surrounded by their own halo of light. Then Sherlock lifted his still cupped hands to his mouth and tilted his head back. The spark slid inside and John watched in dawning comprehension as Sherlock swallowed. Then he doubled over as if in pain and coughed once, hands clutching at his chest. Then he straightened and when he drew his hands away they held a different, more familiar type of glowing ember. The boy and the fire demon looked at each other for a moment then a broad smile broke across Sherlock’s face.

John gasped again as everything clicked into place. But before he could take another step toward Sherlock, the ground beneath his feet opened up and the familiar darkness, the same that had been inside the door, began to suck at his muddy shoes. The ring on his finger grew tighter, trembling violently until it finally snapped off and fell away. Still, he didn’t appear to be plummeting immediately into the soft darkness, so he stretched out a hand and shouted hoping he could be heard over the roaring of the sea.

“Sherlock!” the dark head and it’s burning companion turned toward him, “It’s me, John! I think I know how to help you now! Come find me in the future!” There was more he wanted to say but he feel himself sinking into the black. His last glimpse of Sherlock was of his confused face turning back to what John knew was Mrs. Hudson.

As the darkness drew him in again, John turned in place and automatically started walking in whatever direction felt right. He didn’t have his ring to guide him but he felt Anthea’s presence brushed his pant leg and decided to trust her not to lead them astray. As they walked, he thought about what he’d just seen and came to several realizations. 

It seemed Sherlock had indeed removed his heart. It was currently residing in Mrs. Hudson or she was residing in it, John wasn’t sure of that part. But he had a feeling that made it both more and less vulnerable than it had been inside his own chest. 

Sherlock had mentioned that he and Moriarty had been searching for a spell that would successfully remove the heart from the wizard. That had been just before he decided to leave the Academy. From what John had just witnessed Sherlock’s decision to be parted from his heart was spontaneous, not the product of a spell. It was clear from the state of the experiments he’d been conducting in the cottage, that Sherlock had been interrupted from his original work and drawn outside by the shower of sparks in the night sky. Catching the fire demon who called herself Mrs. Hudson and sharing his heart with her had not been the original plan, John was certain of that. Instead, he thought it had to be an act of selflessness. If the fates of her fallen comrades were anything to go by, she would have been dead if Sherlock had not reached out to catch her. Perhaps she’d explained this and the young boy in all his usual impulsiveness had donated his young, much abused heart to the creature. He hadn’t wanted it anyway, wasn’t that right?

But then why didn’t he share his discovery with Moriarty, if only to gloat about his success? The seconds it took for the reason to strike John had him grimacing at his stupidity. Sherlock cared for Mrs. Hudson, that much was patently obvious to even John’s meager observational skills. He wouldn’t want her to come to any harm. Plus the likelihood of another shower of fire demons had to be rare, so Moriarty would not be able to catch one of his own easily. And that would put Mrs. Hudson in danger. John had seen the lengths Sherlock would go to to keep safe those he cared for, so it only made sense that Sherlock would withdraw from the peers he didn’t like anyway. Leaving school and creating a Castle that was constantly on the move in order to hide Mrs. Hudson inside it would have made perfect sense to him. 

“Is it raining in here or are you crying on me?” Anthea’s sharp voice was muffled by the soft darkness. John reached a hand up to his face and it came away wet with his tears. 

“I don’t seem to be able to stop.” he said, though he couldn’t tell her exactly why he was sad. 

The ground they were walking on took on a new appearance. It seemed there were flames roiling beneath their feet but neither of them paused and the flames didn’t seem particularly interested in burning them. After an indeterminate amount of time, John saw the welcome shape of an open doorway in the distance. The lighter gray rectangle stood out against the black and red world they were in and John quickened his step.

As they stepped through the doorway, John barely noticed the lightening sky above the ravine or the noise the door made as it disappeared behind them. All of his attention was focused on the quivering mass of feathers slumped against the opposite wall of the narrow gorge. 

“Oh Sherlock,” he whispered, as empathetic pain filled his chest at the sight. This wasn’t the cocky, feathered Sherlock who had saved him from a dropping bomb, it wasn’t even the same injured Sherlock he’d encountered in that dreamlike tunnel. This Sherlock was even less human, larger and very obviously battered, it wasn’t even clear if he was conscious. But when John came closer, he lifted his head high enough for John to step up to him. There, under the canopy of feathers, John could finally see his face. The face at least, was still Sherlock, with the striking line of feathers across his high cheekbones. But his expression, or lack thereof, almost broke John’s heart. Sherlock’s eyes were empty and cold and didn’t even meet John’s when he stepped closer. His only consolation was that Sherlock was still alive and that meant Mrs. Hudson had survived as well. So there was some hope that things could be put to rights.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” John said softly, “I hope I’m not too late.” he rose up on his toes and brushed his mouth against Sherlock’s in the barest whisper of a kiss. There was no response, but John felt him give a slight tremor before he drew back again.

“I need you to take us to Mrs. Hudson, if you can.” John asked, his voice still soft but encouraging. Without a word Sherlock rose, John bit lip hard when he saw that the wizard only had one taloned leg, the other was now a bloody stump. But the remaining foot was large enough the could use it as a platform so he climbed carefully onto it. Sherlock began to flap his wings once John was curled awkwardly around his torso and as they rose into the air Anthea decided to join them. 

They flew off, presumably toward Mrs. Hudson, as the sun broke over the horizon.


	25. Transformations and Restorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is he going to die?” she whispered fearfully.
> 
> “Not if there’s anything I can do about it.” he replied fiercely.

Molly shivered, rubbing her arms briskly and uselessly with her numb fingers. Luckily the rain had stopped and the sun was finally rising, and with it, the promise of some warmth. She looked out over the Wastes hoping, not for the first time, that she’d see Sherlock’s dark form somewhere. But she had to squint in the burgeoning sunlight and couldn’t make out much. 

Turning to Dolly, she glanced upward considering the faithful presence of the scarecrow. Since Dolly didn’t need to sleep she’d been on guard while Molly attempted (in vain) to get some sleep and the young apprentice was grateful for her presence. Things had been beyond chaotic after they’d lost John and Anthea. Molly had never been more grateful for the various containment spells she’d learned during her unorthodox lessons with Sherlock. Thanks to them, she’d been able to quickly conjure up a powerful straitjacket that had immobilized Wizard Moriarty before he could do any further damage.He was currently curled on his side moaning softly in his sleep. Wrapped up tights in the binding jacket and spell and suffering from burns from his reckless handling of Mrs. Hudson, he seemed harmless but she kept an eye on him anyway. He’d done enough damage already, Molly thought darkly. 

Mrs. Hudson was still alive but incredibly weak and was unable to move the entire Castle. Molly had been forced to jettison all but the most basic elements of the structure. They were currently making their way along the top of a ridge, a simple wooden platform atop two spindly legs. The wind was fierce up here, but it provided a good vantage point to watch out for help or danger and Molly tried her best to shield Mrs. Hudson from the worst of the gusts.

Suddenly Dolly began bouncing up and down excitedly. Molly looked out in the direction she was facing and saw a speck in the distance. As she watched, it grew larger. She hoped it was Sherlock but was preparing herself for an enemy until she was certain. It wasn’t long before she was sure it was her mentor, and he appeared to be carrying John as well, and she was able to relax her guard and make sure the platform would be stable enough when they landed.

They landed in a rustling tornado of feathers. The swirling blackness obscured them from sight for a moment, and when the air cleared Sherlock was slumped, bonelessly unconscious but in his human form, on the moving platform. John hovered over him for a moment, checking his pulse and breathing, his hands moving methodically over Sherlock to make certain he wasn’t injured. Once he’d satisfied himself on that front John turned toward Molly. 

“Sorry I left so abruptly earlier.” he said with a quirk to his mouth, “I can see you had things well in hand however.” he continued, his gaze flickered toward Moriarty’s bound form and then back to Molly the quirk of his lips turning into a proud grin. Molly felt herself returning the smile, though she wasn’t quite sure why. They were still in a precarious situation, with Sherlock unconscious and Mrs. Hudson in a weakened state and they should have had no cause to smile. And yet, it had to be the adrenalin or the ridiculous situation, but they both began to chuckle softly. They stopped after a moment though, and seemed to collect themselves. Molly noticed that John appeared to be in his youngest form yet. She’d grown used to seeing him age and de-age throughout the time she’d known him but this must have been what he’d looked like before he’d been cursed, except perhaps for the silvery hair that remained regardless of his current age. She thought it suited him however, and if the approving glances she’d seen were to be believed, Master Holmes agreed. 

While she’d been contemplating his transformation, John’s face had taken on a serious expression and it brought Molly’s attention back to the situation at hand. 

“Is he going to die?” she whispered fearfully.

“Not if there’s anything I can do about it.” he replied fiercely. “Where’s Mrs. Hudson?”

Molly reached into the pocket of her filthy lab coat and pulled out the weakly glowing blue ember that was Mrs. Hudson. 

“I know it wasn’t ideal, but it was the safest place for her.” she said apologetically, offering her over carefully. 

“You did the best you could, far better than I would have.” John assured her, and even the weakened fire demon made a noise of agreement.

They walked over to Sherlock’s prone form and John crouched down again, looking at the small shape in his hand.

“Mrs. Hudson?” Molly heard him ask. The fire demon blinked up at him, “Oh John, I’m so tired.”

“Will you be okay if I put Sherlock’s heart back?” Molly wasn’t sure what he meant, but John sounded worried. Mrs. Hudson responded thoughtfully, “I think I will, if you do it. You poured water on me and Sherlock and I both survived, after all.”

“I’d better try then.” John closed his eyes for a moment, as he held the flickering form in his hands. “It’s so small, and fluttery, like a bird.” He said with wonder in his voice. 

“Well yes, it’s still just the heart of a child.” Mrs. Hudson told him. A child? Molly thought, starting to connect things. John bowed his head and she heard him talking softly. It could’ve been a prayer or even some sort of unconscious incantation because as he said it, Molly could smell the faint scent of ozone that accumulated whenever Sherlock called on elemental magic. 

“Please help Mrs. Hudson live. And please help Sherlock take back his heart.” he said fervently , holding Mrs. Hudson and what must be Sherlock’s heart, though Molly couldn’t quite believe it yet, close to his own heart. 

Then he leaned down and pressed the blue form into Sherlock’s chest just where his heart should rest. Somehow, it was absorbed into the wizard’s body until John’s hands were flat and empty against Sherlock’s body. John sat there, head bowed and Molly found herself holding her breath in fear and anticipation.

Then multicolored tendrils of light began to burst from the spot beneath John’s hands, he pulled them back in surprise as a spark of light shot into the air. Trailing the same multicolored streaks of light, they heard a familiar voice come from the spark as it flew through the air around them. 

“I’m alive! I’m free!” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson’s voice over and over, laughing and joyful until she twirled off into the distance and they could neither see nor hear her. Their heads were craned up, watching the place where Mrs. Hudson had disappeared when they heard a cough and rustle from Sherlock. They whipped their attention back to the wizard to see him shift slightly. 

“He moved!” Molly said excitedly, glancing up at John. He was looking down at Sherlock with that intense concentration she associated more with her mentor. 

But before she could say anything else, the platform beneath them rocked and cracked suddenly, losing several feet of altitude. Then they heard a snap of metal and the entire structure began to list to one side as gravity kicked in and it started to fall over the side of the mountain ridge.

“Mrs. Hudson isn’t here to steer the Castle anymore!” Molly managed to yell before John threw himself protectively over her and Sherlock and they began to plummet down the side of the ridge. The platform they were on, acted as a sort of sled, but they felt every jolt of the rocky ground beneath them and they were picking up speed. Moriarty’s form collided with their huddled group and Molly felt Anthea dig her claws into her shoulder as a particularly violent bump threatened to throw her free of the platform.

Suddenly a shadow passed overhead and then Dolly was in front of the falling remains of the castle,the pole of her body braced against the platform and into the ground, trying to slow the speed of their descent.

“Dolly!” John yelled over the noise. But somehow it seemed to work, they slowed to a halt just before a steep drop, held in place by Dolly’s pole. But there was no time to breath a sigh of relief because Dolly’s pole snapped with a crack and they tumbled down again, her body falling backwards onto the platform. This time, the platform managed to wedge itself between the wall of the cliff and tall craggy outcropping. It was just wide enough of a gap that they were wedged in securely, safe for the moment. 

Immediately, John was gathering Dolly’s crumpled form into his arms. “Her pole snapped.” he confirmed, after a quick inspection. “Don’t worry, old girl. We’ll get you another and you’ll be as good as new. You saved us. Thank you so much.” Molly watched as he gave the scarecrow and grateful peck on the cheek of her turnip head. While his lips were still in contact with her cheek, she began to jolt and shiver, shooting out of his arm and into the air where a transformation began to take place. With a final twirl, the scarecrow became a woman with short blonde hair and large blue eyes. She was dressed all in black military like clothes and gave a wicked smile as she spoke, “Thank you John. My name is Mary. I was on an important mission when Moriarty cursed me into that form.” 

“Ah yes, I know that spell of his. Only a kiss from your true love will break it.” Anthea said from her spot next Molly. 

“That’s right, I would’ve been stuck as a scarecrow for the rest of my life, if it hadn’t been for John.” she turned back toward the man in question and Molly saw Mary’s face fall slightly before she could school her expression into a fond smile. Turning her own head, Molly saw that John had dismissed the rest of them and turned all of his attention back to Sherlock who seemed to be coming around.

Sherlock rolled his head against the wood he was lying on and a grimace wrinkled his brow and nose before he opened his eyes. The silvery blue of his gaze immediately began to take in his surroundings, cataloging and deducing as he tried to sit up. But he stopped with a sudden pained gasp and flopped back down. “What’s going on? God, I feel awful.” he complained and demanded at once. “It’s like there’s a weight on my chest, John.” he moaned pitifully.

Molly saw John look down at him with a smile lurking around the edge of his mouth. He knocked lightly on Sherlock’s chest above his newly restored heart. “Well, what do you expect? A heart’s a heavy burden.” he said with gentle mockery.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open again and Molly watched as they gazed at each other in silence for a few moments. John’s lurking smile broke out over his face and Sherlock looked stunned at first, but then returned it with one of his own. 

“J-John.” he said softly, reaching up on hand, “Your hair. It’s like starlight. It’s beautiful.” he bit his lip and looked away once the words were out, as if he hadn’t meant to say them out loud, Molly thought.

“You think so?” John asked incredulity in voice and Sherlock’s eyes shifted back to look at him and he gave a quick jerky nod. “So do I!” John suddenly exclaimed and threw himself at the wizard who in turn wrapped him in his arms. John took Sherlock’s face in his hands and Molly turned away as their lips met in a kiss.

With her gaze turned away from the kissing men, she saw Mary’s pained expression. Anthea’s voiced piped up, not unkindly. “I’m afraid it seems your true love is in love with someone else. May I suggest you complete your mission, which I believe was to apprehend the Wizard Moriarty? I shall contact Wizard Mycroft and inform him of your return to service. It’s good to have you back Agent Morstan.” Mary pulled herself together and saluted the cat. “Yes, ma’am. And once my mission is finished I’ll be back, because if there’s one thing you can always count on, it’s that hearts change.”

“I love it when you talk like that,” Anthea purred, “But in this case, I think the hearts have already changed for good.” Mary nodded but didn’t look convinced. She approached the slumped figure of Moriarty. Pulling a piece of chalk from one of the pockets in her vest, she drew several runes on the wood surrounding him and muttered an incantation. In a plume of black smoke they disappeared from the platform, but not before Molly saw her cast one last look of longing toward John.

A quick glance confirmed that John and Sherlock were still locked in an embrace. Molly looked away again with a blush, to see her only remaining companion conversing with what appeared to be a communication orb. She walked over curiously and saw an imperious ginger haired wizard looking out of the orb.

“And where have you been?” he asked, addressing the cat. Anthea merely moved a step to one side so the wizard had an unobstructed view of John and Sherlock forms entwined on the platform behind her. The face of the wizard in the orb twisted into an expression of distaste. “Ah, I see Sherlock has found his true love. Delightful.” Anthea chuckled. I’m also happy to report that Agent Morstan has been located and reactivate. She is currently enroute with an incapacitated Moriarty. Expect her shortly.”

Eyebrows raised, the wizard looked impressed and surprised an expression his face had trouble conveying, as though it occurred so rarely it wasn’t sure how to construct the proper facial contortions.” Really? And how did my brother and agent Morstan accomplish that?” he asked.

“Oh, it wasn’t them.” Anthea replied, “It was John Watson and Molly Hooper.” the raised eyebrows lifted even higher and Molly was afraid the shock might actually injure the man, so she spoke up. “It was nothing really.” This seemed to cause him to notice her presence for the first time. “Indeed.” he said before dismissing her entirely and turning back to the cat. “And when shall I expect you back?” he asked imperiously.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.” she replied, “I’m thinking of staying out in the field for a little while.” she wrapped herself around Molly’s ankles and purred loudly while the wizard in the orb narrowed his eyes. “Traitor.” he said softly, but there was little actual anger in his voice and expression before he waved a hand and the orb disappeared.

A flash of light in the corner of her eye caught Molly’s attention.

“It’s Mrs. Hudson!” she exclaimed, all thoughts of the mysterious wizard put away for the moment. Sure enough, the bright spark of the fire demon was zooming around them again. John pushed up and away from his place on top of Sherlock, despite the sounds of protest coming from the wizard. But even Sherlock sat up with a smile on his face when he saw his old friend.

John held out a hand and Mrs. Hudson fluttered above it, transforming into her more familiar ball of orange flames. “You didn’t have to come back.” Molly heard him say, though his tone implied he was glad she had. 

“I know, but I missed my boys. And you too, dear.” she said, including Molly. “And besides, it looks like it’s going to rain.” she pointed out worriedly. 

John let out a bark of laughter, “We missed you too, Mrs. Huson.” he leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on her fiery lips. Mrs. Hudson returned the kiss and flushed a becoming shade of magenta. Sherlock cleared his throat pointedly and Molly saw the smirking look John shot him over his shoulder, a look that said ‘Really? You’re going to be the jealous sort?’ and couldn’t help but burst into laughter of her own. Which made both of them turn to her as if just remembering her existence. “What?” they said in confused unison, which only caused her to laugh even harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, ah, I guess this is technically the end of the story? Though I do plan on an epilogue that'll be posted next weekend. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for all the lovely comments, especially those several of you who have continuously commented, your encouragement has been a great help! If you haven't commented but have enjoyed this, I'd love to hear from you (she said shamelessly)!


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was just thinking.” he said.
> 
> “I know, I could hear it all the way from bed, stop it.” his wizard complained.

The Castle had been quiet for the better part of the day and into the afternoon. Mrs. Hudson was settled happily into her newly restored hearth where she crackled over some very tasty kindling. Molly was somewhere downstairs, elbow-deep in an experiment and Anthea lay in a confusing jumble of limbs where the last patch of sunlight had rested an hour or so ago. 

The shift and ding of the door’s dial was heard and then the front flew open and Mrs. Hudson could hear her boys enter in a swirl of fabric and heavy breathing. 

“That…” John wheezed between giggles “was ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.” 

Sherlock rolled his head from where it was rested on the wall to lock eyes with John’s as he tried to get his own breath back. He opened his mouth to respond but had to swallow before his throat would cooperate.

“And you poured a bucket of water on the Wizard of the Wastes.” he was finally able to huff, which only caused them to dissolve into more helpless laughter. 

“Yeah, but that was for a very good reason.” John retorted and reached out a hand to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck and draw him close.

When they finally made their way upstairs, they were still out of breath and more than a little flushed. Mrs. Hudson decided not to point out that Sherlock’s hair was sticking up where someone’s hand had been clenched in the curls. 

“Mrs. Hudson, warm up some water for the bath.” Sherlock ordered as he manhandled John up the stairs. The fire demon opened her mouth to give her usual refrain of ‘Not your housekeeper.’ but she paused when she heard John whisper something to Sherlock and seconds later she heard the unmistakable sound of Sherlock’s voice saying “Please, Mrs. Hudson. If you would be so kind as to warm water for the bath.” The politeness was forced and over-enunciated but it was politeness nonetheless and Mrs. Hudson was tickled.

“Of course, dear.” she said amiably and looked over to share a look with Anthea who had cracked a single eyelid at the exchange.

Hours later, John found himself standing on the balcony attached to what was fast becoming his and Sherlock’s bedroom lost in thought. The dark around him was starting to fade to grey with faint hints of color at the horizon when he heard a familiar shuffling gait behind him. Turning to lean his back against the railing, he ran his eyes over the figure swaddled in white sheets, rubbing sleepily at his eyes.

“You left.” Sherlock said accusingly, walking right into John’s personal space and draping himself over him, resting his head on a shoulder to look off into the distance. John spat out a mouthful of bedclothes and pushed and shoved Sherlock so he was rearranged in a more comfortable position. 

“I was just thinking.” he said, reassuringly.

“I know, I could hear it all the way from bed, stop it.” his wizard complained.

John laughed, jostling Sherlock. “That’s a little ironic coming from you, the man whose mind never stops.”

“True,” Sherlock conceded, “but I don’t waste my thoughts worrying about pointless things.”

“How do you know I was worrying? You’re not adding mind reading to your long list of magical abilities, are you?”

Sherlock scoffed, “It was inevitable. It’s been a month since that incident with Moriarty and my heart, and now that all the work of putting the Castle back together is complete, you’re worrying that I’ll grow tired of you and ask you to leave.” He took John’s silence to be an agreement. “Don’t be a fool, John. I just got my heart back, so I might be a little rusty with all of these emotions, but I can tell you that I will not be tiring of your company any time soon. In addition to all of the sentimentality I now associate with you, I also want you as a partner. In all ways. I want you in my bed each night, by side when I have to cope with my brother or whatever tiresome client I have to take on, and beside me as we run through the city streets on whatever foolish errand I’ve concocted for us. I want it to be just the two of us against the rest of the world. In short, I would never allow you to leave, you belong here.” his speech seemed to take the wind out of him, and when he finished he was a little out of breath. John found he too was short of breath at the revelation. All he could do was tighten his arms and bury his face in Sherlock’s curls. They stood that way for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms and everything Sherlock had just shared, watching the sun rise. Then Sherlock said something else, but it was muffled so ohn reluctantly pulled back. “What was that?”

“I said,” Sherlock repeated with exaggerated patience “That I also wanted to do some experiments to determine the limits of your as yet untapped magical abilities. Honestly, how could you even think you’d bore me? I’m going to have to keep you from being bored, or that annoying limp will return.” John stared at him for a second and then burst into laughter, Sherlock grinned back at him.

“You’re amazing, you know that, right? And you know that everything you just said, not the experimenting but that other stuff, I want that too.” he said, stumbling over the words.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but his cheeks were flushed a light pink in the growing light. “Obvious, John. But it is nice to hear, nonetheless.”

“Now, about this experimenting,” John continued, concern coloring his tone. 

“Later John, later.” Sherlock bent his head to brush his lips softly against John’s. The soft kisses quickly turned distracting and John, concerns momentarily forgotten, led the way back inside as the Castle flapped its new metal wings to rose above a cloud bank and continue on toward the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real end! Thanks for reading!


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